Ever Unforgiven
by Camudekyu
Summary: In the aftermath of her losses, Kagome is placed under the care of none other than the Demon Lord himself. Who would have expected Sesshomaru to be the one to teach her the difference between forgiveness and redemption?
1. Ischemia

There is no time more conducive to pain than winter. Oh, Winter, that time when the very air smells of ice and ischemia, when everything dies save the handful of organisms who had, after eons of fighting the good, evolutionary fight, had come out with thick fur, lots of fat, and the ability to sleep for months on end. What a noble attribute that must be. Very few living creatures, and certainly none of the sentient ones, could survive for very long in the cold. The body was not designed to. Veins would constrict; blood pressure would drop; the thoughts, though never truly the proud cacophony of higher thinking and frontal lobe stimulation about which sentient beings liked to brag, would slow and eventually cease. No, cold was not contributive to life.

In fact, how does one best describe a corpse? Stiff? Pale? How about cold? There never was, nor will there ever be, a balmy corpse. Yes, death is cold. On the same note, though perhaps less severe to a degree, winter is cold. Is it then safe to assume that death and winter are synonymous?

With a puff of warm air, thickened and condensed against the bosom of frigid wind into a life-indicative cloud, the Demon Lord laughed mirthlessly. He rarely deigned to ponder death. However, in his silent and ever clandestine discomfort, he would agree that, yes, death and winter are indeed synonymous. The guards that moved restlessly behind him would never know it by looking upon their lord, but Sesshomaru loathed the cold. He loathed the cold nearly as much as he loathed humans. He loathed the cold nearly as much as he loathed oysters. (This knowledge, oh eager readers, was gifted to none but one other creature alive: Sesshomaru cook. You should consider yourselves blessed.) He loathed the cold nearly as much as he loathed the concept of fate that, despite his lifelong and outright resolution to never believe in control lying in anyone's hands but his own, had, for lack of a better phrase, screwed him with his pants on.

Sesshomaru was one sword short of what he believed to be true contentment. He was one illegitimate brother great of the familial honor his ancestors had known before the contamination of his blood. He was one arm behind, one hand below, and five fingers beneath every other youkai lord in Japan with the exception of the Lord of the East, who was toriyoukai, making Sesshomaru, along with his other inadequacies, two wings late. And now, from the looks of the scene playing out in his courtyard, Sesshomaru was one human female closer to forsaking his birthright and handing his lands over to the little cesspools of putsch he knew to be blooming on his borders. What was the point of noble lineage if it did not qualify one for being above such plebeian concepts as generosity and  
cordiality? Especially munificence toward human in-laws.

He scoffed. Human in-laws. The phrase tasted like bile, or worse, oysters.

She climbed out of her palanquin clumsily, making enough noise to ensure that, in case the word had not been properly communicated throughout the city, even the deaf youkai would know that there was a human within Sesshomaru's walls.

From his perch atop the innermost battlement of the city, the Demon Lord watched the demonstration of the glaring differences between humans and youkai with well practiced condescension. She had the hem of her kimono hoisted nearly to her knees as she stepped off the palanquin and into the snow. She then commenced to stand in the ankle deep accumulation, looking around her with sad, vacant eyes, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. A wind blew by, pulling her hair and kimono in its frigid fingers. The female shivered and tugged her haori closer around her little, frail body.

Disgust. A deep resentment of everything about that girl crept into Sesshomaru like an illness. She was a representation of all things he abhorred: she was human; she was his late brother's mate; from what Sesshomaru could recall, she was vocal... very vocal; knowing his luck, Sesshomaru thought it was safe to assume that she probably loved oysters. Clouds of condensed breath rose off her like she was a little volcano, spitting out steam just to irritate the clear, blue sky. That meant something, though. At least she was not cold. No, Sesshomaru remembered her being quite warm in character, and she was, by definition, a warm-bodied creature.

"Is that her?" a familiar voice asked from behind Sesshomaru. He did not turn to know who it was. Coming to stand at his right side was none other than his live-in female: not quite his mate, but the only youkai he granted any sort of intimacy. Though, because Sesshomaru had, over the decades, grown emotional armor that made the walls of his city blush in ineptitude, their intimacy never leaked from his bed into their conversations.

"Yes," replied the Demon Lord, thinking her question stupid. Who else could it be? Thankfully, he only had one sister-in-law. Had his brother been polygamous, Sesshomaru's palace would have undoubtedly been teeming with mourning and painfully childless human females.

"Pathetic," she muttered, turning her soft, brown ears backwards. "Sheltering her this way is shameful."

"Your opinion was not requested, Sokkenai," Sesshomaru informed her firmly. Sokkenai, still watching the human below, flared her nostrils as she always did when her consort snubbed her. Needless today, the muscles of her pale, narrow nose where quite adroit. Had her attractive, little nose had hands, it would have been ambidextrous. And polylingual.

"Of course not, my Lord." After years of uncompanionable companionship, Sesshomaru had learned that Sokkenai seemed to think that using formalities when their relationship was otherwise informal offended him. He allowed her to believe that; he preferred formalities. There was nothing like protocol to deepen the chasms between souls. "How long will she be staying here?"

"That remains undetermined."

"Hmm," Sokkenai replied, snapping out her fan the way Sesshomaru snapped out his claws. Even in the winter, when wind was abundant, the female carried her red and white, flower print fan. It was like her portable, failsafe poker-face.

Sesshomaru turned a dark expression on her. "What are you insinuating, female?" She never whipped out the fan unless she was insinuating _something_.

"Do you think she'd make a good companion for the little one? Perhaps you could start a collection, my lord?" she asked mockingly, smirking behind her creased, paper partition.

Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes. In a flash of motion, he snatched the fan from her hand and closed it. She did not flinch.

"The human will stay here until she can fend for herself."

"And when will that be?"

Male inuyoukai, especially since the race came to power, adhered to a strong code of respect toward their women because youkai of their persuasion were not easy to tolerate, and females willing to make that sacrifice were few and far between. For this reason, Sesshomaru made a pact with himself to not strike females. Had the Demon Lord not known for certain from personal investigation that Sokkenai was female, he would have acted on whatever slight sliver of doubt there was and beaten the shit out of her.

Instead, he preyed on her with verbal claws and innuendo-sharpened teeth. "Feeling insecure?" he asked, pinning her fan against the stone parapet before him.

Sokkenai's delicate nostrils stood at attention, but she swiftly masked her affront behind a sultry smile. Turning her back to the barricade and leaning backwards on her elbows, she placed one slender hand over Sesshomaru's arm. She began to purr deep in her plentiful chest.

"Not in the least." Sokkenai knew she had one advantageous tool when it came to Sesshomaru. She possessed the single power, that she knew of, that kept the Demon Lord seated where she could get to him: the inherent puissance that all women had over their men. And, with Sesshomaru's repressed character, sexual frustration would undoubtedly eat him alive if it were not for Sokkenai's altruism. It was a short leash, and Sokkenai never hesitated to give Sesshomaru's a rough jerk whenever she felt the need.

However, Sesshomaru was in no mood to be jerked. "Go inside," he ordered, pulling his arm free from her touch.

Sokkenai frowned, pushing out her plush lower lip. "Must you be so surly?"

He chose not to reply.

"Sesshomaru-sama?" she asked, leaning toward him slightly.

It takes a very potent sense of egocentrism to make the mere sliding away of one's eyes offensive. To dismiss with such a slight gesture requires the self-possession of a god. Had Sesshomaru's superiority been a drink, it would have been straight moonshine on an empty stomach; deities averaged in at about aSmirnoff Twister plus or minus a glass of water afterwards.

The Demon Lord's supercilious look at the human female below, who was still standing in the snow but now staring up at him piercingly, wielded a stiletto just narrow enough to slide between the plates of Sokkenai's armor. She scoffed, not bothering to hide it.

"I'm sure both of us remember how discriminating your taste is, my lord. I am not insecure." With that, she plucked her fan from beneath his hand and elegantly stormed off down the narrow walkway atop the battlement.

Kagome stood in the snow, feeling the capillaries in her feet cry out before going into massive spasm against the creeping, wet cold. She sensed the youkai around her staring as they went about their business, none of them offering to show her inside to her room where she would undoubtedly be held captive by the shame of simply being what she was. And if the resentment of the people around her was not enough to isolate, the soul-wrenching, unmitigated grief would certainly do the trick.  
With an interest conceived in having found nothing interesting for that last five hours, Kagome watched the Demon Lord and his conversational partner high above and across the courtyard from her. Judging by their tactics when moving around each other, the female youkai flanking Sesshomaru was his mate.

Inuyasha had mentioned a mate. He had warned her about the female, Sokkenai, once. Kagome remembered having the conversation, though she could not recall how long ago the exchange had occurred.

Lately, Kagome had noticed, time did not seem as important to her. How long ago had her last visit home been? She neither knew nor cared. How long ago had the ceremony been? She could only conjure up images of her companions kneeling at their wedding. How long ago had anything been? It did not matter.

Inuyasha had died four days and eight hours ago. That mattered. She could recall that one quite clearly.

In the vast pasture of expansive dysphoria that had come to encompass just about everything Kagome knew, a single, fungus-ridden plant reared an ugly mottled bloom: clearly, the only thing that kept Sesshomaru and his mate from complete estrangement was their pleasure in offending the other. Kagome watched their faces, their gestures, and their postures closely, none of which were characteristic of a healthy, loving partnership. So at least there was that. Kagome was reassured that she was not the only one suffering.

"Misery loves company," Kagome had told Inuyasha on one of his despondent, moonless evenings spent hidden and guarded by creatures he had once deemed beneath  
him. "But if it makes you feel any better, I can think of something really sad, and we can just sit and be miserable together."

So her despair had some friends. It did not really make her feel any better.

From a passage in the hard hide of Sesshomaru's palace, a small body slipped by a sliding door that was opened just enough for her to pass. Her high, black ponytail bobbed and swayed as she came out onto the veranda where she paused and waited for a servant to place a pair of shoes on the ground below her.

Seemingly oblivious to the cold that threatened to eat the winter world alive, she stepped into her shoes and plodded out into the snowy expanse of the courtyard. Her little pale hands clutched her haori close in an almost affectionate grip, and her little pale face, complete with a sweet, pink mouth, button nose, and two large brown eyes that looked prone to wide, glistening gazes guaranteed to get her what she wanted all hugged between rounded cheeks still graced with baby fat. As though the cold itself could not keep its hands off the cherubic little girl, its icy fingers painted a rosy blush across her cheeks.

And she grinned, pushing her cheeks into plush little mounds of childhood glee. Rin bowed quickly.

"Kagome-san," she said, her voice a welcoming contrast to the frigid air. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Thank you, Rin," Kagome replied, feigning a smile with the belief that the little girl would not be able to read her. "I'm glad to be here."

Rin, the tender little human who had managed, years ago, to dig her petite fingers into the ice of the Demon Lord's heart to scoop out a place where she could fit quite snugly, titled her head to the side. Her eyes softened. "You needn't lie, Kagome-san," the little girl said, her smile turning sympathetic.

Kagome was not sure how to reply. Instead, she pulled her eyes from the suddenly knowing expression on Rin's face. Cutting across the snowy courtyard, Kagome's eyes moved up to her host, her brother-in-law. He was watching her.

A tinkling laugh spilled from Rin, sounding like the background music of sunlight breaking through cloud cover. Kagome looked back at her. "Well, however you're feeling, you must be cold. Come inside, please. Oh, you must be hungry, too! We'll get you lunch and then I'll show you to your room."

Still watching Sesshomaru where he stood over them all, spectating detachedly, Kagome replied, "If I could take lunch in my room..."

"Certainly," Rin said, understanding from personal experience how overwhelming it could be to be human in the center of a demon city. Keeping her hands safely tucked inside her sleeves, Rin gestured to the door from whence she came. She then started in that direction, Kagome following her with slightly dragging strides. As Kagome stepped from her shoes and onto the veranda, she felt something tugging at the trailing and slightly frayed edge of her psyche, attempting to hold her still while trying not to attract her attention. Kagome paused and turned.

Sesshomaru was still watching her.

* * *

A taste for finery is often assumed to be a symptom of that expensive and, for the most part, vastly overrated disease, sophistication. As is the case with most victims, they are not born infected, but through conditioning inflicted by growing up surrounded by fellow infectees, the victim falls into the same loop that has plagued eaters of the upper crust for centuries: sophistication makes you arrogant, and arrogance makes you sophisticated.

Other symptoms of sophistication include: a preference for large dwellings, a great abundance of stuff, (art, clothing, jewelry, little figurines of animals made of crystal, etc.) a virtual army of servants, the tendency to demand that all around you(including your current fuck-buddy) refer to you by your title and not your name, the ability to snub even the nigh snub-impervious with the flick of one finely manicured hand, and a lot of money and-or power. Sesshomaru had all this, though his crystal figurine collection was lacking to the point of inexistence. He preferred the less fragile of keepsakes even if cynical onlookers would often note the sudden plentitude of rather fragile females in his domicile.

Kagome knew, from what she had seen of the Demon Lord's ability to shed blood and organs while still appearing pristine, that Sesshomaru qualified as sophisticated; however, what she knew from the battlefield was promptly blown out of the water by what she saw in the Distributor of Viscera's home.

The Palace of the West was copious. Its walls were copious. Its ceilings were copious. Its tatami floors and shoji doors and ikebana-ridden nooks were copious. Kagome felt very small and very rustic in her faded blue, cotton kimono as she padded down the hall, wearing stained tabi. She was suddenly aware of her hair hanging inelegantly down her back. Kagome could feel the dirt under her fingernails and the bruises on her knees.

While fretting over her appearance, a single notion occurred to Kagome like a large, harpy of a bird coming home to roost in her mind: it did not matter what she looked like. She was human. That fact by itself was enough to tear up her raffle ticket for the grand prize of a little patrician culture. Sorry, Kagome. Better luck next time.

The atrium of the palace was like a mouth, open and salivating with tapestries of large, white dogs stuck in its teeth. Rin guided Kagome down at throat of a hall with sliding doors like gills on either side. About halfway down the beast's esophagus, they took a turn to the left and slipped like spent oxygen through one of the doors as youkai, servants and nobles alike, hid their aversion behind a poorly fabricated ignorance. As if one human was not bad enough, their collective demon consciousness grumbled. Two left them surfeited.

A covered walkway stretched out its long body from the porch outside the hall like a wooden snake, dead in the snow. Their footsteps sounded loud and hollow on the serpent's back, making Kagome feel even more human than she had before.

"You'll be staying right up here," Rin said over her shoulder, pointing to a structure, one of many outlying buildings reserved for private conference or residence of guests. It looked to be large enough for a family or small group, and it would suffice. It had to. Kagome did not have much choice.

Somewhere, deep in her starving heart, a little voice began to weep at the thought of sleeping alone in that building. But what were her options? Would someone sleep in there with her? There was no one.

Rin opened the door to building and stood to the side to allow Kagome first entrance. Like a shadow, Kagome moved into her new home.

"Do you know how long you'll be staying, Kagome-san?" Rin asked, in her tender, girlish voice.

"No," Kagome replied as she strolled over the tatami, pretending to look interested in yet another tapestry of a large, white dog. "I suppose I'll be here as long as Sesshomaru will keep me."

"Oh, I don't think his invitation for you will expire," replied the little girl. She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Mine didn't."

Kagome turned away from a window she had been examining and watched the girl. She was sweet and gentle and radiated a sort of unbiased love. A hopeful smile graced Rin's face and she clasped her hands behind her back.

"We are very different, Rin," Kagome said

Rin's smile slipped a little. "Not that different, Kagome-san," she insisted, taking a step closer. "You and I, perhaps we should spend some time together. We could get to know one another, and you'd see, Kagome-san. I would enjoy that very much."

Souls are warm. Doctors will tell you that body heat is the body's struggled for homeostasis, fighting to keep balance in what is typically an unbalanced shell. They will say it is the blood or the burning of fuels in the muscles; however, the ones who actually know the truth, be it spilled unheard on a playground or recited while in the arms of a lover, will tell you that body heat it just the soul. Like a little illuminated furnace, like a miniature star, our souls remain snuggled deep within us, emitting their warmth and drawing each other closer with their gravity. And Kagome's soul, burning low now, yearned for a little warmth.

Rin glowed. She was warm, her soul obviously closer to the surface than most, or perhaps she just had fewer layers on.

"How old are you, Rin?" Kagome asked, turning her back to the window and leaning her soft backside against the pane.

"Eleven. How old are you?"

Kagome smiled. "Nineteen."

"Do you think I'll be as tall as you are when I'm nineteen? I've always wanted to be taller. Sesshomaru-sama says that I'll grow, but... well... I guess I'm just impatient."

"Being bigger isn't any better," replied Kagome. "Sometimes I wish I could be eleven again." _Before I knew anything about youkai and jewels and magic and love._

"I simply can't wait until I'm older. Sesshomaru-sama likes to tease me by holding my things over my head where I can't reach them because I'm so short. Do you think by the time I'm nineteen I'll be able to reach them?"

"Sesshomaru teases you?" Kagome asked, surprised. A man carved from marble or some other lifeless, immobile substance could play like that? Part of her was appalled that a man his age would taunt a little girl while another part was floored that Sesshomaru was capable of teasing anyone.

Rin grinned. "Yes, but he always gives me my things back. Do you think by the time I'm nineteen that I'll be able to get my things back on my own?" she repeated, clearly more fascinated with the concept of beating her warden at his own game than anything about which Kagome could care.

"Well," Kagome began, thinking back to the pale vulture that had perched above her when she had arrived, watching her intently. "You'd have to be taller than me."

Rin's round, little face wrinkled, looking disgruntled. "Phooey," she said. "I thought for certain... oh well." And with that, her expression lifted. She shrugged her slender shoulders once more.

"Rin," Kagome said, glancing over her shoulder out the window. "Be honest now, okay?"

"Okay," Rin replied. Why had Kagome sobered so quickly, Rin wondered.

Turning her gaze back on the girl, Kagome asked, "How do you live here? Doesn't it bother you to be different from everyone else?"

"It did at first," Rin said, putting a finger to her chin as she thought. "There were a few servants who were very rude to me, but I told Sesshomaru-sama, and they stopped. But I love living here, now. Besides, I don't really have anywhere else to go." Only a child, so carefree and well taken care of, could declare such a thing as brightly as Rin did. No, she had no other home, but she obviously did not desire one.

"I mean, don't you ever get lonely being the only human?"

"Oh no, I have Sesshomaru-sama. He may not be human, but he keeps me company." His name was like a switch behind her eyes, flicking on a light that projected all the adoration she could muster on her face. "But I am not the only human anymore, Kagome-san, and neither are you. So, you needn't be lonely. I think we could be very good friends."

Yes, souls are very warm. "I do, too."

"We could have lunch together, if you like," offered Rin.

Kagome nodded. "That sounds nice."

Rin quickly dismissed herself, declaring that she would have lunch brought to them in Kagome's new home. With a wave of her fragile hand, Rin disappeared through the shoji and ran gingerly down the raised walkway back to the main building.

And suddenly, the oppressive companion solitude that seemed to now follow Kagome everywhere she went put its hands to her shoulders and pushed her to the floor. With a quiet thud, Kagome found herself seated with her back to the wall. And then her knees were against her chest. And then her face was in her hands. And then tears were running down her forearms to pool at the creases in her elbows, leaving cold, itchy trails behind them

* * *

She was sexy like a vampire was sexy, like a sword was beautiful. She was sexy like guns and violence. She was hot like cold that forced people to huddle close together to share body heat after shedding their snow-dampened clothing and inadvertently spooning up next to each other under their only blanket. Oh, what delightful games she inspired on chilly nights.

Her eyes, with black, slit pupils that cut through her green irises like a yelp cutting through the night, scanned the scene before her with disdain. From between her plump, red lips, her slippery tongue darted to catch a drop of sake that had lingered there just to get the individual attention of that slender muscle. A sake cup rested in her hand, her index finger absently stroking the underside.

"Hmm," she purred without affection.

They stood facing one another, readying for a battle that, if it did not happen there, would happen eventually. It was inevitable. Never place two, intelligent, beautiful females in the same room. They will either rip each other to very fine and still sexy ribbons, or they will join forces and joyously conquer anything with a penis that happens to cross their paths, consequently taking over the world which is, as it would seem, run by penises.

"Hmm," she repeated, the brown skin on her chest vibrating. In a smooth motion, she brought her sake cup to her lips and drank deep the contents, granting another drop the luxury of her tongue across its back.

Every time Sokkenai moved, Kagome wanted to let out a little eep.

"Hmm." It was a simple mantra that seemed to be tearing her opponent limb from limb. How easily her desired result could be achieved, the cat youkai noted, her shining lips curling upwards at the edges.

"So you are Kagome?" asked Sokkenai, the sounds of disinterest and patronization ringing clearly like bones breaking on the wind.

"Yes," Kagome replied, careful to keep all arms and legs and emotional extremities behind her armor. "It's nice to meet you."

"I'm sure," Sokkenai said, her smile cracking slightly to reveal a wall of ivory teeth within.

What else was there to say?

_If you can't keep your clumsy human cunt off Sesshomaru, I'll disembowel you and eat you with a court audience._

And Kagome's reply would be a simple, _Eew. On so many levels. Eeeew.  
_

But none of that needed to be spoken. Sokkenai's eyes uttered thick, leather-bound volumes; Kagome could feel them piling up on her chest, pressing her slowly but surely into a death that would have made Giles Corey proud.

"Inuyasha told me that you were Sesshomaru's mate," Kagome offered, hoping to keep their strained words well within safe territory.

"What a chaste way of wording it." Sokkenai looked out the window at the blanketed landscape. "I suppose you could call me that." She let out a sound that resembled the love child of a sigh and a laugh. "That would make us sisters-in-law, would it not?" Her sneer was lined with fangs that glistened like she was holding a string of pearls between her lips.

Kagome paused. She had not really considered that. "I guess. By demonic standards, yes."

Sokkenai raised a curved, glossy eyebrow. "And by _human_ standards?" Every youkai, it appeared, was born with the inherent gift of being able to make the word "human," or any related term sound like an insult. Sokkenai's usage was saccharine.

Kagome wanted to narrow her eyes. Instead, she willed a smile. "We would be acquaintances."

Sokkenai's responding smirk was derisive. "Of course." She opted to say nothing more, and instead, add to the weight of the tomes on Kagome's torso by watching the human.

"Well," Kagome said. "I've been keeping Rin waiting, so I had better go."

"Certainly. I suppose the girl was happy to finally be with her own kind."

Kagome nodded. "I think it will be good for her."

Sokkenai drank once more from her sake cup, her eyes remaining trained on the human seated on the tatami, facing her. "It will. The girl gets under foot like you wouldn't believe."

"She's still young."

"Sesshomaru-sama is a very busy youkai," Sokkenai continued without acknowledging Kagome's comment. "She would do well to give him berth and stay out of his way. There is little place in his schedule for humans." Her green eyes pierced the air like neon signs, broadcasting her meaning in clear, abrasive hues.

Youkai watched human. Human watched youkai. Sokkenai insinuated, and Kagome interpreted. Kagome wanted to recoil. She wanted to run from this woman who personified the creeping cold that seemed determined to wrap its fingers around her heart and squeeze until it whimpered.

"It was nice to meet you, Sokkenai-san," said Kagome in the smoothest tone she could muster.

"Hmm," replied Sokkenai with a curt smile that did not reach her eyes. The act of glowering with one's eyes while smiling with one's mouth was not one for the faint of heart or weak of face. Luckily, Sokkenai was neither. "I'm certain I'll see you around the palace, Kagome." _Stay out of my way_, flashed those glaring signs.

"Sure," Kagome said. She gave a small bow and retreated to the sanctuary of the hall where Rin was waiting, impatiently pacing past the door. The little girl looked up.

The sight of simple, brown eyes with small, round pupils made Kagome sigh. Had she been holding her breath? Kagome had not noticed; she had been too busy planning the fastest escape route out of that room.

Rin blinked and smiled warmly. Kagome thought she would drop to her knees and hug the girl. For being there. For being kind. For being human.

"What did Sokkenai-san have to say that she didn't want me to hear?" Rin inquired, looking a little putout.

Kagome shook her head. "I'm sure she'll tell you when you're older." _When you've become more of a threat.  
_

"When I'm older," Rin began, frowning at the floor. "That's when everything's going to happen, when I'm older."

"And you're going to look back and wish you'd stayed eleven. Being older doesn't mean being better," replied Kagome. Deciding that her signification was lost on the girl, Kagome changed the subject. "So where did we leave off?"

"Oh, right!" Rin exclaimed, looking up with her bright expression. "I was going to show you the conference rooms. They're the prefect place to sit and read if you want quiet. That reminds me! I'll have to show you the library. Do you like to read, Kagome-san?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Sometimes qualified as when the book in hand did not involve academics. She also was not particularly fond of James Joyce. (Had Sesshomaru read James Joyce, he would not be either, for, despite his distaste for humans, he would not delight in reading about them drunk or dying or in any other type of Irish pain. Yes, readers, you are now privy to knowledge that the Demon Lord himself did not possess. Congratulations.)

* * *

Kagome stared at the ceiling in her new bedchamber, cradled in the lap of a thick futon and wrapped in the arms of a warm blanket. She was also wrapped in the arms of herself, but the blanket was, by far, more effective. 

"I suppose this is what they mean by the first day of the rest of your life," Kagome muttered. The cliché itself had never made much sense to her before. Was it not true that every day was the first day of the rest of your life? And what defined the rest of your life? When did the beginning pass the gauntlet to the rest? And why had someone not told her about that rather important seeming transformation somewhere back when she could have done something about it... back when she was still in Beginning and not flailing her arms desperately while trying to keep her head above the surface of Rest?

But now she knew.

The gap between Beginning and Rest was a chasm far deeper and wider than any she had ever seen before, and she had leapt it nearly five day prior and had touched back down that morning. Her knees hurt from the impact of landing on the other side considering she was usually astride a far better jumper when chasm-crossing was required. She had jumped this one alone, though.

Beginning starts with cognizance, even if that cognizance is limited to, "Me! Look at me! I'm hungry! Ooh, I just soiled myself! Hurray!" Oh, what simple roots from whence we come.

Beginning lasts through those learning years --walking, independent excreting, feeding oneself, the complexities of language, and Human Relationships101-- on into those awkward years -- puberty, puberty, and more puberty-- and somewhere through all those learning experiences, you pick enough to survive the jump into Rest. Of course, nothing that they teach you can actually be used while in Rest, but it will get you there in one piece. Surviving Rest is your own feat.

There are no words to describe Rest. The closest this humble author could come to an accurate depiction of Rest would be describing the sensation of being there. Fear. No, terror. There is no path ahead of you. The bridge you were crossing has suddenly ended, and it is now up to you to get to the other side before apathy takes you down. That is the nature of braving Rest. If you stand still for too long, the crashing jaws of willful indifference will snap you up and, after a time, leave you on the street somewhere as pathetical turds.

Movement is required-- preferably forward movement, but some choose to cope with Rest with backwards motion. Those retrograders, though they can be successful in many other avenues, are not happy. Not truly.

This was the rest of her life. Kagome knew it. This existence of devastation, of sleeping alone in a house designed for a family, of being scorned for reasons outside of her power to change stretched out before her like a borderless map with a little, red arrow pointing to somewhere just right of the middle where the words, "You Are Here" were inscribed.

It would be so easy to lie down in her fold and stay there. When every part of her wanted to just take a long nap there on the chilly, wet concrete of mourning, Kagome knew that she could not. She could not. She could not. She could not. If she could ride a demon and fire arrows at the same time, she could damn well walk and mourn at the same time, too. At first, her walking would be purely perfunctory, but Kagome hoped that she would someday come to enjoy the journey again, even if she was walking alone.

But her knees still hurt from the landing. And her back was sore from spending so long bent over, begging forgiveness at the dais of a council of deaf deities. Her feet were tired from standing in one place, fighting the ice of the Rest of Her Life that was holding her from the shins down. Her eyes burned from crying. Her hands were raw from wiping away the abrasive liquid. But above all the other pain, standing like a towering monument of despondency and overshadowing the little human figure standing at its feet, was the ache right behind her sternum, where her heart had once been.

Oh, God, she missed him. She missed him so badly.

The ceiling did not have any words of wisdom to offer, so Kagome rolled over onto her stomach and tightened her arms around her lonely, hollow chest.


	2. Necrosis

To my reviewers: You have made my heart all aflutter. You have made my heart go bump in the night. You have made my heart boogie woogie and shake its booty like Patrick Swayze on methamphetamines. Thanks.

It is a shame that we can take a phrase, one that typically describes rather well how we are feeling, who we are, what we are doing, who we are doing, and just about everything else in between, and drive it into the ground with overuse. Words of our species' finest minds, so artfully arranged and conveyed, are butchered by our mob mentality, semiconscious collective consciousness. We write them into pop songs. We paint them across billboards. Our actors and actresses spout them until we are so goddamn tired of hearing the once beautiful words that we label them and put them in a category of bastardized quotes. How many high school seniors have failed timed writings because they mistakenly used these poor, abused sayings? The author only knows of one for sure, but she is certain that there must be many. How many journalists have been written off as prosaic when they exploited the wrong string of words? How many authors have been centered in the cross hairs of critics' evaluations and mercilessly shot down while the soaring creator of prose road the updrafts of exhausted apothegms?

Oh, lowly, unloved cliché. This author understands your pain, even if she thinks that she can come up with something better.

Out of respect for the cliché, the author will use one.

It had been the week from hell. The use of this expression is rather ironic in that the week had been characterized by snow--lots and lots of snow--and generally cold people. (Why must hell be considered hot? The author, coming from the sunny shores of Maui, finds the hot to be quite enjoyable. Besides, one can always remove their clothing--which is an under appreciated skill--and frolic about in an effort to cool down. Would it not be more appropriate to make hell very cold? Instead of the tired biblical reference, we could say, "What the Michigan in February?" or, "Go to Helsinki, Sunday driver!")

More suitably, it had been a week from Vancouver, minus the marijuana. Snow had fallen consistently with brief union breaks for the spent clouds to settle back and let the heavier ones step in. The sun, winter's arbitrator, had not shown her face once. The wind, winter's most truculent protester in the picket line, came hand-in-hand with the snow, chanting their slogan through the halls of the palace.

This blizzard laughed in the faces of their braziers. It stood tall and sneered down at those who donned extra layers. It smote the gardeners and devoured the messengers. There was no escaping this blizzard.

Now, imagine, if you will, braving the blizzard alone. That had been Kagome's week. Every meal had been late and cold. In fact, everything had been late and cold. Every morning, when a servant would typically bring her a clean kimono, the garment arrived late and cold. When she requested a bath, she was made to wait outside the bathhouse while other occupants enjoyed it. When she could finally get inside, there was no fire to heat the water and no implements to build one. After a quick, chilly scrub and an even quicker, chillier soak, Kagome was ready to give herself up to the blizzard since it seemed so determined to get to her.

Rin had mitigated Kagome's frustrations slightly. The girl was refreshing and downright amusing, but she could not offer any real emotional connection. And, unfortunately, what Kagome needed more than anything else was emotional connection. Instead, she got cheerful conversation and an abundant supply of reassurances that things would get better.

It was not much, but it was enough. Kagome had survived her first seven days under Sesshomaru's roof. In truth, she had not expected as much, so the sunrise of her eighth day was a surprise to Kagome.

Sitting on her front porch, marveling in her unforeseen well-being, and wrapped in a red haori that had once not belonged to her, Kagome watched the snow.

Snow is the of contradiction of meteorology. Spawned from cruel parents, Rain and Cold, snow is the gentle, misunderstood offspring. Snow does not pound like rain. Snow does not howl like wind. It does not pierce like hail. Snow falls softly, quietly, lovingly, wrapping the landscape in ample, white arms. It beckons children, the most vulnerable and fragile of our kind, outside to frolic and frenzy as it collects in drifts. _Drifts. _What word is more benign that "drift?"

And yet, despite its delicate personality, snow attacks with the most brutal weapon: her only child, Ice. She is a silent, subtle murderer who will sneak into your veins before you can think to defend yourself. From there, she quietly creeps through your entire body, killing everything that had once fed off the warmth of the soul. She will turn you red, then blue, before taking you to her brumal bosom and turning you white. White... the color of cold.

She offers a sordid mercy to her victims, however. Before she exterminates you, she lets you go numb. You do not die in pain; though it can be argued that being without feeling entirely is just as painful as being in pain. But that is snow's token, snow's gift to us, and it is the task of the receiver to interpret it.

Kagome did not know what she preferred. She did not enjoy pain, but, while suffering, at least she knew she was alive. She knew she could still feel even if being able to feel ripped her apart every time she allowed herself moments of contemplation. But now, after a week of suffering, of conscious solitude, of stabs and slices and slaps, Kagome's emotional nerves had let out exhausted sighs and resolved to take a sabbatical for an undetermined span of time.

And that, more than anything else, terrified Kagome.

The snow swirled in intricate trails, darting across the backs of gusts in an almost playful manner. There was no pattern in the blustery discord as white blended into white, blurring everything into a haze.

Something in the snow, in its disharmony, comforted Kagome. Perhaps it was the knowing that there was something else in the world more dubious than she.

She thought she was drowning. Kagome was drifting. Drifting. Drifting like snow. Uncertain, confused, vacillating between hating this life and hating herself for hating this life, Kagome fought desperately to discern just exactly how she felt. But how does one feel when they are numb?

There was one sensation remaining, one knowing in her that loomed like a specter, following her and casting its shadow over everything she saw: Kagome felt that if she could not keep moving, if she finally acquiesced to the stagnancy of her grief, she would find herself face down in the garden and sobbing until Lady Snow built her a grave, nestled in her innocuous drifts.

* * *

The orgasm. God's gift to man. That joyous, feverish, sweaty climb to the highest cliff; the precarious, almost painful teetering at the edge; the mindbending, glorious plummet; and then the nigh-inevitable contact with the ground below. The entire process, specifically the brutal return to earth and the bitch-slap of gravity could make or break a couple. Of course many could overlook the rough landing if the sex was good. 

In this situation, the sex was good.

Sesshomaru remembered a time when the impact had not been so severe. Before Sokkenai, now sprawled across him, purring loudly, had ever shown her exquisite face in his court, there had been times when he thought he could enjoy the sex for reasons other than the sex. There had been females, however few, who... he was not certain what they did to him. But that time had passed. Adolescence, grinning and swaying and speaking words that dripped like sweat and semen, had been snuffed out by adulthood, and, as appreciative as he was for his age, Sesshomaru could not deny the touch of nostalgia that came with thoughts of naivety, effervescent hormones, and sticky romps in... well, just about anywhere.

Sokkenai shifted, deliberately rubbing her slick thighs over his.

Once, a very long time ago, Sesshomaru had not loathed her. He did not know her, both biblically and literally, and she had seemed like a decadent treat, dripping in honey and plum juice She danced and fluttered her fan, hiding the smile that whispered steamy promises even when her mouth did not, though her mouth was quick to take action when Sesshomaru made his offer.

Their arrangement was mutually beneficial: Sesshomaru could keep a female under the facade that she was his chosen, thereby slaking the insistent reminders from his advisors that he, for traditions sake, needed a mate, and Sokkenai would get her hungry, little paws on the most eligible bachelor in all of demon society. To sweeten the offer, she was promised land for her clan and all the wealth she could waste. And waste, she did.

After a few months, though, Sesshomaru discovered that Sokkenai's plum juice was a bit off. In fact, it was downright rancid. She was still long-legged and slender. She still swayed when she walked, and she still purred in a manner that could ignite fire in a snowman. Her grapefruit breasts still bounced when she laughed, but her laugh itself had changed. She did not giggle or chuckle sweetly as she once had. Somewhere deep inside the visual work of art that was Sokkenai, a dark force bloomed up to burn away her bluff, and, after another month, Sesshomaru discovered that that dark force was the authentic Sokkenai, rising up to her surface like dead fish rising in water.

But, again, the sex was good. So he kept her around.

In her defense, Sokkenai was not the only one who had changed. Sesshomaru, who had once spent the balance of his time exploiting her femininity for all it was worth, eventually found more interesting pastimes to pursue. Sokkenai, slowing turning into the heartless sexpot she was now, moved into the background of Sesshomaru's focus as a brighter, more appealing subject for his interest rose to the fore. Tessaiga. That damned dangling carrot that kept Sesshomaru invested in following his brother when his better judgment told him to leave the asinine bastard to his own devices. He abandoned his new "mate" and journeyed out into the Japanese countryside only to return nearly a year later with a small human at his side and one less arm.

Sesshomaru knew he had shunned Sokkenai. He could admit to that much, but he chose to see their fall from affection as a mutual, if not involuntary effort. She turned into a bitch, and he lost interest. It was that simple.

A set of five, sharp claws traced the the thin scores they had left across his chest only moments earlier. He had once twitched with excitement when she did that. Now he barely noticed.

Sokkenai continued to purr as she lowered her pouty mouth to the wounds she had inflicted and licked the blood from his skin. She then looked up at her lover, smirking suggestively. Apparently the two ruts they had grudgingly shared already were not enough. When her eyes landed on a distracted Sesshomaru, her purr took on a darker shade of vermillion growl.

"Sesshomaru," she said, sounding annoyed. He continued to look at a place on the ceiling, appearing to be concentrating on something outside the room. Sokkenai wriggled against him, making an effort to rub as much of her skin as she could against his. Sesshomaru responded by looking even more pensively at beams overhead.

"Sesshomaru," Sokkenai repeated, more insistently. Her ignored her.

"Sesshomaru!"

"Silence, you abhorrent female," snapped the Demon Lord, sacrificing an irritated glance at her. "We are done."

Her nostrils shook their angry fists. "What happened to that stamina, Lord Sesshomaru? Are you exhausted already?" He did not take the bait which aggravated Sokkenai even more. "What is so damn interesting?" she asked, looking over her shoulder toward the ceiling where Sesshomaru's gaze was steadily burning two round cavities into the wood.

"I smell something," he replied flatly.

Sokkenai narrowed her eyes and sniffed the air. All she could perceive was their mingled musks at first, but upon further inspection, the nekoyoukai sensed what was clearly perturbing her lover.

She grinned, delighted to find something that would undoubtedly anger Sesshomaru. "It would seem that there is a wolf at the gate."

Without warning, Sesshomaru pushed Sokkenai off of him and rose quickly. The nekoyoukai let out a sound of protest as she dropped to the futon, but she knew better than to try and stop him from leaving. Only half of her truly desired his company anyway, and that was her lower half. She watched him dress with an appreciation mitigated by time. He was still mouthwatering, and Sokkenai was still pleased to know that she alone held the status of Sesshomaru's pet sex-on-a-stick. Beyond that, he sickened her.

"Do you think it's him?" Sokkenai asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"Yes."

"Oh good," she said. "I like him."

"Had I wanted your thoughts on the matter, Sokkenai, I would have asked for them," he replied as he stepped into his hakama and tied them at his hips.

Stand and deliver, little nostrils, thine master beckons! "That's right. You don't like him very much, do you?"

Sesshomaru said nothing.

"He's a charming specimen of wolf breeding, if you ask me."

"I did not," growled Sesshomaru.

"I know." She smirked. "You're not jealous of him, are you, lover? Afraid he might steal me away?"

"I could only hope for such luck."

Sokkenai's fist curled in the blanket, but her smirk did not falter. "You are delicious when you're insecure, Sesshomaru-sama," she purred. "You know what I like about that wolf? It's those legs," she mused out loud, putting the claw of her index finger in her mouth. "Your fear of inadequacy is almost as delicious as his legs, but not quite."

Sesshomaru had very few sore spots, and the handful that he did possess were heavily guarded, their positions rarely leaked. Sokkenai, having been a receptacle for much of Sesshomaru's leakage, only knew two of them for certain: his shame in keeping a female child and his shame in losing his arm. If there was one target over which the female had painted a large, red and white bullseye, it was Sesshomaru's feelings of impotence.

In one hand, Sokkenai held the end of Sesshomaru's sexual leash, and, in the other, she cradled a dart that she threw with accuracy every time.

He pinned her with narrowed eyes, burning gold, the color of power. He wore his white hakama, the color of cold, and his printed, red haori, the color of passion. What an intriguing combination.

"If you had the intelligence to advise me, female, I would desire your thoughts more frequently. However, your purpose it limited to the breadth of your spread. You serve no other function; therefore, you will not speak unless it is requested."

Sokkenai's lips tightened.

With that, Sesshomaru turned and left. It would appear the Demon Lord had a few darts of his own.

* * *

The ever changing and yet always consistent show of falling snow was mesmerizing. Kagome watched the fluttering flakes showering down like a deity's dandruff, trying to pick out a single, icy clump and follow it all the way to it's soft landing amongst its kin. But there was too much movement and white. When Kagome thought she could lock her eyes on a single flake, it would dart to the side, find a twin, do a quick foxtrot, and then blend in with the rest of the blurry, cold mess. 

Kagome sighed.

She could not feel her fingers very well. They seemed large and cold and too sore to close into a fist. Normally, this would have signaled her retreat indoors, but she could not stand to be in that building anymore. So far, she had only been given one brazier for the main room, and to warm herself by its toasty flank, she would have to endure those damned tapestries that lined every wall in her home. Her exhausted eyes could never escape the great, white dogs, some with gapping maws and wild fur and others sitting erect, muscles bulging and faces calm. Either way, they all seemed to watch her, their piercing red eyes following her around the room when she tried to maneuver from under their gaze.

Kagome sighed again, watching her breath slip through her lips and curl into a little cloud. She hoped she was not going insane.

"Kagome-san!" a familiar voice called from the walkway leading the main hall. She looked up to see a small body, bundled up in many brightly colored layers jogging toward her, waving one well-sleeved arm.

"Good morning, Rin," Kagome called halfheartedly.

"Kagome-san, you have a visitor!" exclaimed Rin.

Kagome felt her eyes widen as her heart stumbled over its own feet in its ongoing game of hopscotch and took its time to get back up. Her mouth dropped open as her body fell victim to the shock one might feel upon discovering an all you-can-eat sushi bar after having traipsed the Siberian tundra with nothing but salted yak on which to chew... for a week. (For the record, Sesshomaru had, where mere mortals possess a sweet tooth, a yak tooth. He loved the stuff.) There had been a time, in her younger, less desperate days, that Kagome would have hesitated and probed the little girl for more details before growing excited. However, in this new era, the Rest of Her Life, Kagome leapt to her feet and charged toward Rin, holding up her kimono unabashedly.

"Where? Where's my visitor?" Kagome asked, skidding to a slippery halt by Rin.

"He's coming this way," replied Rin, pointing in the general direction of the main hall. "I didn't think Sesshomaru-sama would let him enter, but he was very insistent. He even agreed to give up his sword to get in."

"Did you recognize him?" A stinging high in her nose warned Kagome that she was about to cry. Frowning sternly, she willed it away.

"No," Rin shook her raven head. Her rosy face split into a grin. "He was quite handsome, though."

The week from Novosibirsk, in all its merciless monotony had been impaled by the head of an unarmed, handsome pike. It could have been Naraku, back from the dead. Kagome did not care. As long as it was not a simpering, patronizing servant or a great, white dog, Kagome wanted to see this person, this altered link in the chain of her tedious life, with every ounce of her depleted, weary being.

She shifted from one foot to the other, watching the sliding doors of the great hall, barely discernible through the snow. Kagome wrung her hands.

"What did he look like?" Kagome prodded anxiously.

"Hmm," Rin put a finger to her chin. "He was very handsome," she repeated, blushing a little more. "He looked to be tall, not as tall as Sesshomaru-sama, but still tall. He had dark hair, too. Do you know who it is?"

This information did little to narrow Kagome's search. Most of the people who would bother to visit her would be handsome, tall, and dark haired. Miroku perhaps? Or Kohaku with word from Sango?

Irrational thought is one of the most powerful tools a human can possess when harnessed correctly. It can be used for destructive or creative purposes alike, but either way, our delirious delusions are often the deciding vote in the action. Irrational thoughts kill. Irrational thoughts save. Irrational thoughts birthed the telephone, the car, the defibrillator. You can imagine the reaction of doctors when some irrational scientist declared with irrational conviction, "Hey, maybe if we galvanize 'em, they'll live! What do you think? Just one quick zap!"

Love is an irrational thought, or perhaps love is the only rational thought and people simply act irrationally because of it. Of course, the same could be said for fear. Kagome could not tell if her self-induced fallacy was rooted in love or fear, but she knew it could not be real. It could only be sprouting from her loneliness, from her starvation for the solidarity she once felt. She knew that much. There was no possible way her hope, spawned by a one night stand between desperation and isolation, could actually occur.

Irrational thoughts can cut like a knife through the flesh to reveal the cavity where a freshly pilfered heart had once beaten. Irrational thought, in its cruel mockery of hope, ignited in Kagome the vision of a lover, dead and buried, risen to steal her away from this hell and take her back to the little, rickety hut that they shared, where there was no heat to enjoy save that of a warm soul. But that soul, his soul, enough for her.

Some false notions can be easily crushed beneath the heal of a dreamer, while others linger in our minds, straining the surrounding thoughts. Why, Kagome wanted to know, did this one have to linger? Why did Inuyasha have to be the one she imagined strolling down the path, bowing slightly against the wind?

He did not have dark hair. It could not possibly be him.

And he was dead.

"Oh, there he is!" Rin chirped, pointing away from the main hall out into the snow. Kagome turned and squinted against the relentlessly falling fluff and searched for any movement beyond the near horizontal trajectories. "Can you see him?" Rin asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "He's over there, coming around the corner of the bathhouse."

Kagome moved to the side slightly, hoping to capture a better view of her visitor. Then, peeking through the billowy white curtains out in the distance, she saw something dark. It swayed from one side to the other slightly in a gentle, lolling gait.

Kagome felt something snap in her chest; perhaps it was the chain tying her to the walkway. Ignoring Rin's protests, Kagome charged into the snow barefoot with only her kimono and haori to guard against the elements. Before she could actually register that she was plodding through the snow, she was running. She was running desperately.

"Who's there?" she called, afraid her tears might freeze on her face. "Who's there?" Her foot slipped, gouging out a slender valley in its wake. Kagome fell to her knees but quickly and awkwardly climbed back up, her trailing sleeves waving like red flags in the wind.

"Kagome?" replied a voice, strained for volume over the wind. But she knew that voice. It was dark and gruff and welcoming and protective and all the things that made the mouth of her soul water. "Kagome is that you?"

As though a wall of overwhelming relief had been dropped in her path, Kagome stopped. She could not run any more. Her knees felt weak. "Kouga?" she cried, the yellow glow of hope tinting her voice.

"Kagome?" he replied through the snow.

She thought she might crumble. It was a familiar voice, an intimate face, a friendly smell. It was a warm soul. After a week that felt like an eternity, his voice sounded like the sweetest song she had ever had the benison of hearing.

In an instant, he was standing in front of her, holding her hands, wiping the moisture from her cheeks with backs of his fingers. His face was a mix of pleasure and concern that seemed to coax Kagome's tears out of the little room where she had tried to lock them away. And while the tears coursed down her face, she could not help but give him a sad, grateful smile.

"Kagome," Kouga said, his blue eyes trying to read her face. "It's good to see you again."

All she could do was stare, her eyes tracing paths cut across his face: the furrow between his dark brows, the black line of his eyelashes, the slightly crooked angle of his nose, the dimple in his chin. When nothing she could think to say sounded appropriate in the wake of the comfort the mere sight of him brought her, Kagome threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tighter than she had ever embraced the wolf before.

Kouga was surprised to say the least, but not so surprised that he could not hug her back.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, his lips close to her ear.

"Yeah," Kagome choked. "I'll be fine as long as you don't ask me that."

* * *

The Palace of the West had settledin for the evening. It snuggled down into the snowscape under its velvety blanket of black clouds and listened to the bedtime story the wind recited from memory. It was the same story the palace had heard for years, but since wind and structure spoke a difference language, the palace was entertained just by trying to figure out what wind was saying. 

Different parts of the palace translated the story into varying dialects, each with their own mournful cadence and haunting animus. In the narrower halls of the upper levels, the story of the wind was a moan, a sad lament of a poor lost soul, waging a desultory war with himself with no distinct antagonist or protagonist, no distinct sides other than thought and action. In what had been called the true seat of the West's power, Sesshomaru's bedchamber, the wind's story passed loudly, sounding in short, heaving breaths, gasps, groans, and the constant underscore of throaty purring. Words fell to the floor heavily, blushing and giggling, rolling in ecstasy, speaking into the drops of condensed water gathering on the chest plate of discarded armor, abandoned in place of snug, flexible skin. The main hall's interpretation was a low, quiet sigh, a long breath of relief at finally finding a space large enough to breeze recklessly.

The story told into Kagome's bedroom was insistent. The wind waited outside her door, announcing periodically that it was still there, reminding her that she could never get far from the tale it had to tell.

On this night, Kagome did not listen. She ignored the wind, left it on the veranda where it contemplated how to best intrude. Wind, the clever devil she is, first considered depositing an ignited paper bag of feces by the door, wailing loudly, and then running to hide off into the bushes to watch, but that was not Wind's style. Instead, she took a comfortable seat on the porch, folded her hands in her lap, and commenced to sing a dirge.

And still Kagome did not listen. She had better sources of auditory stimulation that evening.

Kouga forewent the bedchambers offered to him after receiving a very short tour of Kagome's new living arrangements. Reading the loneliness strewn unabashedly across her face, Kouga remarked that it was an awfully large place for one person. Kagome shrugged, wanting desperately to invite him to stay with her while fervently resisting the urge to invite him to stay with her. It was a tumultuous battle that Kouga finally settled by asking her if she wanted some company. Her agreement came quickly, followed by the guilty admission that she had but one brazier, making only one room bearable at a time.

Kouga cracked a grin. "Then we'll just have to share a room, won't we?" The opportunity tasted quite sweet, so sweet that Kouga forgot to remind Kagome that he had spent the past many days trudging through a blizzard and that he could quite comfortably endure a room without a fire.

The brazier burned in the center of the long, rectangular room, a warm, orange light spilling over the lip and pooling on the tatami below. Kagome sat with her knees up to her chin, her bare toes just dipped into the puddle of light. The embers breathed deeply the cold air, savoring the flavor before exhaling it back out in thin wisps of gray smoke. They glowed and faded and glowed and faded again in a dance of indecision between fighting for flame and calling it quits for the night. Kagome wished she had something more to burn.

Kouga busied himself with finding suitable burning materials. After a quick scan of the room, he resolved that the unsightly, as he deemed them, tapestries would do quite well. He then went about tearing them down and shredding them into ribbons small enough to be fed into the brazier.

Soon, a pleasant little fire was crackling at their feet.

"Your clothes are all wet, Kagome," Kouga noted, looking her over once. Kagome shrugged.

"I don't have another kimono to wear."

Kouga then suggested that she remove her wet garments and put on the sleeping kimono that waited just inside the door. After a moment of consideration, Kagome began to shiver.

"Turn around, Kouga," Kagome said as she picked up the white sleeping kimono from the tray by the door. He hesitated, grinning at her until it became quite clear that she was not amused.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in some semblance of defeat. He then turned to face the wall while Kagome hurriedly peeled off the clothing and wrapped herself in the fresh kimono. After snugly tying her obi, she announced that it was safe to turn around.

"So," Kagome said as she sank down to the floor at Kouga's side. Again, she tucked her thighs up to her chest and hugged her knees. "How did you know I was here?"

"That female, the slayer-"

"Sango," Kagome filled in the blank for him.

"Yeah, Sango, she came out to my den and told me you where you were. Was she ever pregnant! I'd never let my woman out in that condition." He folded his arms across his chest.

Kagome leaned closer in excitement. "How did she look? Was she all right?"

"She looked pregnant," said Kouga, a little irked at having to repeat himself. For Kagome, however, he would make that sacrifice. "She was good, though. She didn't say much, just that you were stuck with this mutt and that you could probably use some company."

"That was sweet of her." Kagome's eyes slid from Kouga to the brazier. The thought of Sango triggered a nostalgia Kagome had hoped would not arise. As is the case of soldiers who ride into battle together, they had bonded. Of course, riding into love with their men had rather resembled charging the fray, and they had often sought comfort in the simply femininity of the other. Over years of having to periodically escape hanyou and monk, they had developed their own little sorority: "Alpha Delta Avoidance-for-the-Sake-of-Sanity."

Kouga shifted, edging closer to Kagome. He raised his right knee and rested his elbow upon it while his left leg remained bent on the floor. Kagome scooted backwards slightly, leaving to the brazier the view up Kouga's fur skirt. The brazier blushed and burned a little hotter.

"If I can't ask you how you're doing, what can I ask you?" said Kouga.

"Is my quiet company not enough?" Kagome asked, mustering a jesting tone. Truthfully, she would have simply enjoyed his presence, conservational or not.

A thick,naked arm snaked around Kagome's waist and tugged her closer. "Just looking at you is enough for me, Kagome," he cooed into her ear. Kouga was rewarded with a sudden influx of blood in Kagome's cheeks and the ear he had just blown across.

She squirmed and pushed against him before realizing how intimate it felt to put her hands to his side. His fingers stroked her her shoulder. His bare thigh touched hers. His breath caressed the side of her face, triggering chills and goosebumps.

These sensations were not foreign. There was a time when such subtle, gentle touches had been welcomed and savored like gooey chocolate licked off one's fingers. But not with Kouga. Kagome had never considered sharing such proximity with the wolf, and in her state of mourning, the thought seemed even less appealing.

But she felt that spark, that fiery snake that climbed up her spine to the back of her neck, through her scalp, tickling her pituitary before gliding down through her solar plexus and curling up languidly into a slippery ball in the tight cavern that Kagome had shared with one other person. The snake made her want to share it again.

"Kouga," she said lowly, inching away from him. "I'm sorry, but... just stop."

He frowned, tightening his grip around her. His free hand fell to her knee which he began massaging gently. "What's the problem?" he asked, his voice as smooth and lubricious as Kagome felt. "Dog breath's not around, for once, to stop us."

There are many ways to ruin a potential sexual encounter. To this day, vomiting is one of the more effective techniques, though an abundance of body hair has been known to have the same effect. The modality with the highest success rate, 97, is the breathy, hot whispering of, "Just ignore that rash, baby. The doctor said it was nothing." (Pause for a moment and consider the three percent that have proceeded from there. Fear not for your low standards until you are of that moiety.)

Kouga, having never resorted to such evasive tactics, just hit the height of his career in degreasing women.

Kagome leap back and slapped the wolf across the face. When that still did not mitigate the wound he had just mindlessly torn open in her chest, she slapped him again. Kouga, unsuspecting and unaware of his solecism, sat dumbfounded.

"You insensitive jerk!" Kagome cried, balling her fists, one of which still stung, close to her chest. Her entire body trembled, shaking the tears from her eyes. "You... you... boorish..." she dissolved into sobs before she could find a suitable noun.

"What was that for?!" snapped Kouga, holding his cheek.

Kagome, with a hand to her eyes, turned away. She felt the burning urge to turn around and slap the wolf again while also considering how tempting it was to simply lay down and sob. When both options seemed inappropriate, Kagome wiped her eyes and clamped an iron hand on the sutra that would seal away her tears for the time being.

"Have a little respect," Kagome ground out, willing herself to turn back to Kouga who was gradually inching back toward her.

"For who? Inuyasha?"

"Yes!" Kagome exclaimed. "Have a little respect for the dead! I can't believe you, Kouga."

The wolf youkai fell silent, watching Kagome.

This was new development for him. Inuyasha was dead? And if she was now living with Sesshomaru, that meant... Kouga's eyes widened as realization hit him: Kagome and Inuyasha had been mates. The Demon Lord was her brother-in-law, and in demon society, that made him responsible for her well-being until she found another mate. Kouga looked away, bemoaning his now negated chances at getting the girl horizontal.

"You and Inuyasha...?" Kouga began, slowing looking back at the flickering flames in the brazier.

"Yeah," Kagome muttered, her soul nearly extinguished from the exertion required to remember Inuyasha's death and be angry with Kouga at the same time. Her voice was thin. "Sorry I never told you."

"But, I always said you were mine. He knew I'd laid claim to you," he wolf grumbled, licking the wound dealt to his pride.

Kagome let out a short, joyless laugh. "He'd laid claim long before you ever did."

"So why didn't you say something?" His fists tightened in his lap.

She winced at the bruises in his voice. "I guess I never had the heart. You... you just seemed happy to think I was yours. I didn't really think you were serious."

"So you'd try to make someone happy even if it meant lying to them?"

"I never lied to you!" she declared. "I never said I was..." When affront required too much energy, Kagome melted into weak exasperation. She mustered a feeble glare at Kouga until her gas light came on and she saw that she was running on fumes. With a painfully resigned sigh, Kagome shook her head. "I'm going to bed, Kouga. You can stay if you want to. I just... I'm tired."

Standing up was never more of a challenge. Kagome felt heavy like her body was more inclined to sink through the floor and into the earth then settle in her futon. Devouring the short distance between the brazier and her bed, Kagome felt like her back was breaking. Finally, she found herself standing over the futon, the expanse of cotton and cushioning, too large for her. Too large for one person.

Kagome slipped into her bed and tugged the blanket up to her shoulders. The border of the cover rested there for a moment before creeping up to her nose, swallowing Kagome into a chilly, empty darkness. She watched Kouga. Kouga watched the fire. The fire watched the Oscar-winning performance up Kouga's skirt.

The ookamiyoukai, now nothing but a silhouette against the dying orange glow, heaved a long sigh. His armor and fur-clad back rose and fell, the muscles in his shoulders tensing into hard ridges before softening into gentle hills. His clawless hands rested on his knees for a moment, before he began to climb to his very long legs.

Kagome watched him move, feeling guilty. She knew not what was chewing at her harder: having just been very short with her friend or enjoying the unhurried show being put on by Kouga's hamstrings and quadriceps. "Are you leaving?" Kagome asked quietly.

Kouga did not look at her. "No," replied. "I'm just taking off my armor." He worked the leather buckles on the sides with dexterity, his long, brown tail flicking occasionally. He shed the plates like an insect shedding its spent exoskeleton and set it aside.

"I set up a futon for you over there," Kagome said, pointing with her hand close to her chest at the spare bed unfolded at the opposite end of the room. Kouga looked at the proffered pallet for a long moment.

"Thanks," he said before lowering himself to the tatami next to Kagome's futon. Instinctively, she pushed away from him.

"Kouga," she warned. "You're sleeping over there for a reason."

Settling down on his back, Kouga folded his arms behind his head. "You don't trust me?" he asked, his smirk leaking into his voice.

Kagome frowned. That was a loaded question if she ever heard one. Yes, she trusted him to save her life if she were peril. No, she did not trust him not to feel her up in the night.

"Just know that there is a world of pain in store for you if you try anything," Kagome threatened. Kouga chuckled.

"I wouldn't be able to talk to you from all the way on the other side of the room, would I?" he asked as he crossed his ankles and shifted his shoulders from one side to the other.

Sinking further into her futon, Kagome said, "I haven't been sleeping very well lately, Kouga. I don't mean to be rude, but I need some rest."

"If you haven't slept well before, what makes you think you're going to sleep any better with me next to you?"

"I'll be more motivated to pretend with you next to me, and if I pretend long enough, I might actually fall asleep."

Kouga hesitated. He made a quiet thoughtful noise in his throat before rolling over onto his stomach. He rested his chin on his wrists, his tail now free to swish at will. "I'm sorry... about earlier."

"I never thought I'd hear that from you, Kouga."

He shrugged. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't know."

They fell into a still hush, the air around them coming to a restful repose from sound other than the wind, who had sensed her cue and picked up her tune once more. Now, it seemed, she had called in a few friends to lend a harmony to her song.

Kagome listened to Kouga's gentle breathing and observed his sides expanding and contracting in time. He was a pleasant sight under his armor, one that Kagome had never beheld before. He was ridged and valleyed in a pattern that eons of evolution had deemed most pragmatic; he was a wonderful specimen of experiments gone very, very right. The corrugated surface of his flank was exposed by his raised arm, and Kagome could see his ribs shifting under his skin, sliding from one position to another in the most even, graceful transition. His lattisimus dorsi, another taut muscle that formed a long, curved escarpment across his side, looked inviting, beckoning fingers like brave or unrealistic or desperate pioneers to walk its slope.

He looked very touchable. Kagome thought she was going to cry.

"Kagome?" Kouga asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Willing the quaver from her voice, she replied, "Yes."

"How did Inuyasha die?"

How she had dreaded this question. How she had eluded the topic. How she had run, gasping for breath until she spat out her blood and her legs went numb just to avoid this remembrance. But she knew it would come. She knew the voracious shame would suffocateher if she never said it out loud.

"I killed him."


	3. Anamnesis

**To my reviewers**: how frolicsome my soul has become. Gamboling about, donning the pink cloak of a flattery-induced blush, she is jump-jigging across the floor as carelessly as Vash the Stampede. Thanks.

A/N: I lay claim to neither KFC nor Josh Turner's "Don't Mess Around With Jim." (If you recognize the lyrics without my reference, you're cool. If you don't, you're probably cooler.) I apologize profusely for bastardizing such coruscating nuggets of cultural aestheticism. (Though I don't feel so bad about KFC. I'm a vegetarian.)

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"The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love." - Margaret Atwood

Is it not incredible how things work? How the earth turns in the same direction every day? Does it not get dizzy? Is it not awe inspiring how winter is inevitable, but always redeemed by spring? How birds take to the air so effortlessly? How dolphins sing? How salmon find their way back home? How your navel, in all its simplistic glory, is as good as an undated death certificate?

That is law in this life. If you are born, you will die. You may be longevous beyond the comprehension of those of briefer lifespan, but there will come a time when your cells will grow weary of reproducing, your heart of pumping, your nerves of firing. There is but one certainty in life: if you are born, you will die. (That, and if you are American, the IRS will always find you, no matter how far you run. There are no borders to our regime.)

Even youkai, with their boasted immortality, will perish. They will not die of natural causes, though. They can be killed at the hands of others, which is commonly the case being that youkai tend to be belligerent in nature. However, those who escape the threat of their brethren and survive have been known to meet the same fate, as though some ancient curse had been cast over their race. Upon reaching their first half-millennium of age, they all choose the same route. They always take their own lives. Somehow, five hundred years always seems to be enough, perhaps too much. With the unending destruction and devastation that is obligatory in life, in all lives, an unending existence does not seem as appealing. There is power to be had in immortality. There is suffering to be had in immortality. Amaranthine life is not a katana. Both edges of that blade slice deep.

But Naraku was lumbering before them right there, with a meager fifty years under his belt, and his adversaries were not about to wait four hundred and fifty more for the jigsaw hanyou to kill himself.

His macabre face, once the handsome visage of some poor, unsuspecting lord, gaped into an obscene grin. His red eyes glowed through the predawn darkness like the headlights of a backwater truck driver, pinpointing Bambi in his windshield. His arms, now elongated and spidery, wavered and clawed at the air around him as though to snatch any innocent life form that was unfortunate enough to wander too close. From a behemothic, rubbery mass of pulsing, undulating tentacles, his gaunt torso sprouted, brandishing like a banner the purple scar marring his back: the spider. Deep within his dark, stolen lungs, a laugh began. It bubbled and rumbled below the surface before finally erupting into the air, polluting the clearing as potently as his leaking miasma.

"This is it," Inuyasha said. "It's now, I can feel it."

Kagome stood slightly behind him where she had been pushed. As Inuyasha began to move forward, away from her, Kagome's hands shot out on their own accord and seized his arms, pulling him backwards.

The hanyou stumbled, keeping the transformed Tessaiga away from his mate with practiced grace. He had, in calmer times, bemoaned her habit of jerking him around while he held the sword, ready for battle, but when Kagome seemed disinclined to alter the pattern, he simply learned to deal.

"Inuyasha," Kagome breathed, holding his sleeves so tight her hands began to tremble.

All the things that she had wanted to tell him, that she had pined for the opportunity to spill over him seemed suddenly timid. How could she squeeze her love into words and then squeeze those words into the moments they had before Naraku took the first swing? How could he fight if she refused to let him go? How could she survive if anything happened to him?

"Yeah?" Inuyasha asked, turning toward her. He wished it were day so he could look at her face and see her more clearly. He wanted to memorize her eyes right then, just in case he somehow forgot them.

Even through the darkness, Inuyasha could see his mate's face crumble and strain from tears. She drew in a long shaky breath and fought back her sobs. She had such important things to tell him; she could not waste her breath wailing. "You've got to go," she said when her frenzied declarations of love and adoration were not forthcoming.

Inuyasha nodded. Normally, her prompt would have irritated him, but not now. Not now when he knew there were so many things they both wanted to say but could not for the severity of the moment.

"I know," he said, watching her.

Naraku let out a roar-like laugh, watching the emotional exchange playing out before him.

For a moment, the mates watched each other. Through their expressions everything was spoken and everything was understood as words would never suffice to do. Inuyasha gave her a curt nod before turning back to his writhing opponent.

"No!" Kagome cried, tugging him back once more. Before Inuyasha could protest, Kagome threw her arms around his neck and locked him in a deep, charged kiss that reiterated with much more vehemence what their gazes had communicated. Inuyasha allowed his sword and arm to drop while capturing Kagome fiercely with his free hand. He could taste her tears running from her eyes, dripping into their open mouths. Breathing deeply, he savored her smell, now partly his after their years of proximity.

"Please," Kagome gasped, her breath short. She put her hands on either side of his face and brought his forehead to hers.

For a moment, they both inhaled the breath of the other in silence.

"Please, Inuyasha," she repeated.

"What?" he asked, his heart wrenching in his chest.

Kagome allowed herself a quiet sob. "Come back." Her voice was thin, barely a whisper yet it echoed in Inuyasha's ears like a shout.

"I will," he replied, opening his eyes to watch her poignantly. His mate, now fully awash with tears turned her face away, as though ashamed of her passionate display. With gentle fingers, he held her chin in his hand and lifted her face to look at him once more. "I will. But promise me you won't interfere, Kagome."

"But I-"

"I work better solo. You know that. And if anything happened to you... just promise me."

"Inuyasha," she began to protest but was cut off by another cackle from Naraku.

"Spare me your sentimentality," he bellowed, his voice a screeching combination of the voice of others whose lives he had taken and devoured. "I would expect you to be more enthusiastic about our battle, Inuyasha."

Turning from Kagome, Inuyasha growled. "I can hardly contain myself, Naraku," he snarled. Snapping his head back to his mate, he demanded, "Promise me, Kagome."

She had no time to disagree. As much as she wanted to offer her aid, she nodded.

"Thank you," Inuyasha murmured before pushing her in the direction of the edge of the clearing. Once he was certain his mate was a safe distance from the melee, Inuyasha swung Tessaiga around in a broad circle, bring the blade to point at his enemy.

"Ready to die, Naraku?" asked Inuyasha.

The evil hanyou smirked. "Ladies first."

From the twitching knot of tentacles, a single gray-green appendage shot out toward Kagome, who was huddled just outside the clearing. She shrieked and darted out of the way but not before Inuyasha severed the arm with an arch of his sword that caught the moonlight in a flash.

"Leave her outta this, you son of a bitch!" Inuyasha shouted as he positioned himself more carefully between his mate and Naraku.

"Humans add flavor to a battle. Wouldn't you agree, miko?" Naraku turned his burning eyes on Kagome.

A growl tore from Inuyasha's chest as he charged Naraku head-on, Tessaiga taking on a red hue, hissing with energy. "Your fight's with me, Naraku!" he declared in a voice that reverberated through the woods. With a mighty swing, he struck the barrier that surrounded Naraku.

The dome was shot through with streaks of blue lightning before crackling and fading under the weight of Tessaiga's blow. Inuyasha wasted no time once within striking range. Mercilessly, he began hacking off Naraku's limbs, globs of flesh falling to the ground with sick thuds.

Kagome watched her mate working feverishly from her place out of the way. With every slash of Inuyasha's blade, she gasped, barely pausing to let the captive air free from her lungs. She could tell Inuyasha was tired. He was still strong and swift, but he was not up to his full potential.

At dusk, Naraku had attacked. Inuyasha had faced him alone, as he was currently doing, Sango too heavy with child to fight and Miroku too heavy with pregnant wife to participate as well. Kagome had stood ready, her arrow notched and bow raised, but Naraku never gave her an opening. Inuyasha had managed a handful of lethal blows, forcing Naraku back until the evil hanyou finally retreated, his disembodied flesh creeping after him.

They had hoped that was the end, but they knew it was not. With the newly completed Shikon Jewel in Kagome's possession, hanging around her neck, they knew Naraku would fight with all his strength to seize its power. Unable to steal away any rest, Kagome and Inuyasha had sat side-by-side in their hut, waiting in silence.

Tears of regret rolled down her cheeks as Kagome wished she had asked him to make love to her during those few, restless hours spent waiting. While her mind told her that there would be plenty of time for that once Naraku was dead, her heart berated her when she knew that the possibility of Inuyasha's death was present.

An unpredicted spire of Naraku's flesh shot at Inuyasha, piercing his first careless opening. Through his abdomen the tentacle pushed, forcing a strangled cry from him. Kagome stifled a scream with a hand clamped over her mouth.

Grinning toothily, Naraku guffawed in sadistic glee as he hoisted Inuyasha into the air. He brought the skewered hanyou closer to him to look him into the eye.

"You are defeated, Inuyasha," purred Naraku, sneering.

Inuyasha, wincing against the excruciating pain of impalement, still held Tessaiga tightly in his fist. "You haven't won yet, you slimy fuck."

"Ah, but I have," insisted Naraku. "It would appear your woman is in the process of betraying you."

Inuyasha went rigid for a moment before turning as much as he could while still perforated by Naraku's projected flesh. Through the darkness, he could discern Kagome frantically loading an arrow into her bow. Her hands shook so badly that the entire mechanism twitched. Inuyasha's eyes widened in terror. He knew exactly what Naraku planned to do once that arrow was fired.

"Kagome, no!" shouted Inuyasha.

But he cried out a moment too late. The arrow, illuminated and engulfed in pink flame, was launched awkwardly at Naraku, who held a very convenient shield in his grip.

The hanyou exchanged a quick glance: Inuyasha terror-stricken and Naraku sneering at his impending victory.

"NOOO!" Kagome shrieked, dropping her bow and holding her hands to her face as her arrow, poorly aimed at her enemy, was stopped by the back of her mate. Naraku held up Inuyasha in the arrow's trajectory by a ropey tentacle, all the while grinning at Kagome's misjudgment.

Inuyasha choked as the arrow flared brightly, burning away whatever youkai there was in him. In the place of the white haired hanyou, was a dark haired boy. Tessaiga transformed back before clattering to the ground.

"Inuyasha!"

Naraku's laugh began as a quiet chuckle, deep in his throat. From there it climbed in volume to a malicious laugh before bursting out as a cruel bellow. He held Inuyasha captive for a moment longer before tossing the human body away from him, still cackling loudly.

Kagome ran toward where Inuyasha's body had skidded to a stop, the Shikon Jewel bouncing against her heaving sternum. Falling to her knees at his side, Kagome bent over her mate.

"Inuyasha," she whimpered as she brushed his black bangs from his eyes. "Oh, Inuyasha, what have I done?"

"You promised, Kagome," Inuyasha groaned, taking her hand in his. "Why did you disobey?"

"I... I..." she began impotently. "I thought he was going to kill you. I had to do something, Inuyasha. I couldn't just... just... Oh, God, what have I done?"

His dark eyes slid closed slowly before reopening halfheartedly. "It's all right, Kagome."

"No, it's not! What have I done? What have I _done_? Inuyasha..." Kagome threw herself over his bloodied torso and sobbed. She could feel Naraku lumbering closer and closer behind her, but she did not care. She could not care.

"Kagome," he breathed. "You have to do it, now."

"Do what?" she asked, her face still pressed to the front of his haori.

"Kill... Naraku."

"No, no, no, you'll kill him. I'll fight him back now, and... and when he returns, you'll be all healed up, and you can fight him. You'll kill him next time, I know it. I'll stay out of the way next time."

Inuyasha shook his head slowly. "No, Kagome... I won't."

"Then he can kill me, too," she sobbed against his chest. "What's the point if you're not here?" Kagome curled her hands into his haori and held herself close to him.

"There's... a point." Inuyasha's face suddenly contorted in pain.

"No, wait, Inuyasha. Please wait!"

His breath became shorter as he labored to speak. "You've... got to... kill him, Kagome."

She shook her head. "Not without you!"

Abruptly, what little light existed in the night was wiped out. Kagome and Inuyasha had both been swallowed into a dark cavern, the hot, wriggling walls pressing in from all sides. Kagome pushed herself closer to her mate.

"What's going on?" Kagome asked, looking around blindly.

"We're being... absorbed. You've got... to kill him."

"I'd rather be eaten alive by him than live without you, Inuyasha!" sobbed Kagome, her fingers finding his hair and curling in the strands. In the darkness, she felt two human hands touch her cheeks. Those hands guided her downwards to received a soft, trembling kiss.

"You've got... to... Ka...gome..."

"Inuyasha," she breathed. "Please wait."

And the hands fell from her face.

"Inuyasha?"

The digestive juices in the flesh around her gurgled.

"Inuyasha!"

Nothing save the quiet sound of her heart breaking.

"Inuyasha! Inuyasha, no! No, no, no! Please! Inuyasha, don't leave me!" Her voice broke into an agonizing wail. She threw her arms around him. "Don't leave me! Inuyasha! NOO!" With her ear pressed to his chest, she heard nothing within. Just stillness. His skin felt cold.

And with that, Kagome resigned to her death, to her navel's destiny, there pressed to her mate.

Naraku giggled, listening to the miko sobbing as his tentacles closed tighter and tighter around her and Inuyasha. Her wailing was muffled by the partition of flesh between the source and his ears, but Naraku could hear every pained stutter, every wrenching breath. Oh, how it delighted him to know he had won. After so long, he was victorious. Before his eyes, images of his many uses for his newfound power played out in imax-quality cinematography. He could taste the carnage. He could smell his imperium. And it was beautiful.

The miko's sobs ceased beneath him to be replaced with the sound of his muscles constricting around his prey; however, as Naraku began to squeeze in tighter, he felt a resistance. His tentacles were brawny beasts, and he knew it would require more strength than the miko had to balk him. So what, he wondered, was pushing back?

A strange sensation rose underneath him. Naraku raised one eyebrow as he tried to ascertain just what was contending him. It felt as though something round was growing under him, like an expanding bubble.

The bubble grew larger and larger until he could see his mass bulging from the pressure. Then, rather abruptly, whatever force was resisting him began to burn his skin. It was not a subtle burn. It was a searing, excruciating pain that made his skin blister and peel from his muscles. It was a holy burning.

With a shriek, Naraku flung himself off the growing, scorching sphere.

The night was illuminated brighter than noon by a pale blue light, emanating from the bubble Naraku had just exposed. With the light came the smell of his charred flesh and a rush of hot air against the winter chill.

"Naraku!" a voice cried from within the incandescent sphere.

The hanyou squinted his eyes against the overwhelming light. He could feel the air suddenly charged with an energy in direct rivalry with his. It was the opposite of youki. The air itself was holy.

"Gah!" Naraku choked as he felt the stinging sensation of purification.

"Naraku!" the voice cried again. "You're mine!"

Baring his teeth against the pain and light, Naraku righted himself and prepared for an attack.

In a blink, the sphere opened from the top and disappeared into the ground, revealing that slip of a miko and the dead body of a now human Inuyasha. Without her barrier, she looked unimpressive to the eye, but Naraku could feel her aura from his distance. Mingled with the holy energy of a miko was the amplified, purified power of the Shikon Jewel.

"Are you going to fight me, little miko?" asked Naraku, bringing himself up to tower over her. His skin still burned from her aura, but, without the searing light, it was easier to bear. The pain was lessened enough that he gained the confidence to challenge her.

"You're not going to know what hit you," said Kagome, her hands balled into fists.

"Where's the jewel?" Naraku asked abruptly when he saw the bare chain hanging around her neck.

Slowly, gracefully, the miko put a hand over her chest. "Where you'll never get it."

Naraku's snarl filled the heavy air. "I'll rip you apart!" He charged her, limbs flailing madly.

"No," Kagome said firmly. The air around her pulsed, sending a wave dense enough to shove the attacking hanyou backwards.

"The jewel is mine!" cried Naraku as he climbed upright. He sent three, thick, rippling tentacles at the miko.

"No," she repeated. In a flash, the barrier rose around her and the body of her mate. The tentacles glanced painfully off the shell, triggering another shriek from Naraku.

"Try as you might, you cannot deflect me forever, miko. I will have my prize!" Once more, Naraku darted in Kagome's direction.

"No," she declared, lifting her hands, now glowing with that eerie, blue light.

"Fisticuffs? Ha!" He projected a tentacle at her head.

With calm, serene hands, Kagome caught the appendage before her face, holding it at bay despite how Naraku pushed forward.

"No!" cried Kagome. As the sound of her voice ripped through the forest, the force of purification ripped through her opponent.

"What?" Naraku asked, suddenly frozen midmotion. "What are you-" his words, strangled with panic as they were, melted into a scream. He shrieked in pain so loudly that Kagome winced against the mounting decibels. "No!" howled the hanyou.

"Die, Naraku!" Kagome shouted over his wailing.

Once again, the clearing filled with light so bright Kagome was forced to close her eyes. She felt something rushing out of her like a wind blowing through her entire body. That rush filled her veins, every cavity, every extremity. She felt warm, dipped in a hot bath that smelled sweet and clean and pure.

In an instant, the feeling was gone. The air was cold once more and smelled mossy like the forest. Hesitantly, Kagome cracked open an eye. Naraku was gone.

And Kagome was alone.

* * *

The thighs are the emotional holding tanks of the body. Somehow, in the twelve columns of muscles spanning from the hip to the knee, we, as human beings, store more withheld thoughts and repressed memories than any other place in the body. Perhaps the storage facilities of the brain simply grow too full; the card catalog is still registered on little slips of paper in drawers instead of pragmatically stowed in the expansive RAM of a computer. Yes, our hard drives, as fast and efficient as they are, only like to store certain types of information. The rest, painful memories for example, are put aside into what professionals have titled, "muscle memory." Why would our muscles be the unlucky recipients of our abandoned collections of recollections? Because, where our brain falls short, muscles excel. What our brain has been evolutionarily trained to ignore, our muscles give the most acute attention. Our muscles can feel. Our brains cannot. And is it not true that to recall something, not simply dates and locations, we must feel? We remember the sensations of happiness and sadness in our hearts. We remember hunger in our bellies. We remember softness in our fingers. We remember pain in our thighs. 

It does not make very much sense, does it? No, but it is the truth.

Our thighs, those long, fleshy avenues to the genitals, are our receptacles. What our brains fear to recall is ingrained in our thighs. The thigh contains the longest bone (femur), the longest muscle (sartorius), the filet mignon (psoas). For all of the records it sets, the thigh is an insecure aspect. It is often unloved for its tendency to like adipose. It is often ignored because a touch to the thigh is always considered sexual, and it has become the norm to shun sexuality. Poor thigh. Poor, lonely, uncaressed thigh.

Let us all take a moment to appreciate our thighs.

Kagome loved her thighs. They were long and smooth and quite good at carrying her around. Her thighs had been good to her, and for that she would remain forever grateful. Her thighs had no emotional problems. They knew they were good what with the great deal of exposure they had endured and the quite blatant appreciation of anything male they received because of that exposure.

As useful and strong as her thighs were, Kagome was not saved from the muscle memory of those dense bands of flesh. Her thighs remembered every touch they had ever received. They remembered her barest intimacy, and therefore remembered Inuyasha. Embedded there were fond anecdotes of gentle claws and warm hands, soft kisses and wet tongues, the beautiful friction of other, more muscular thighs.

There had been a time when her thighs' affinity with Inuyasha had not been painful. Now it was.

And, as you now know, oh well informed readers, thighs store pain like nothing else. Consider that next time you order a bucket of drumsticks from KFC. (Sesshomaru would be the first to tell you, if he ever felt inclined to tell anyone anything, that the thigh is the juiciest meat on all creatures. He has sampled a wide variety of fleshes and can make that statement with conviction. Of course, there is no flavor sweeter than fear to a youkai.)

Somehow, during the night, Kagome had managed to uncover her right leg. Probably in her restless tossing in her shallow sleep, the blanket had slipped, displaying her skin to the uncaring dark. Thighs do love to be free despite their owner's often fear of flaunting them, so if Kagome's movement in her sleep had not been the culprit, it was possible that her thigh had willed he blanket back with shear mind power.

It was not the exposure that bothered Kagome. The chilly air was not what set her off in a sour mood though it did collaborate in waking her uncomfortably. It was not the knowing that she had not shaved in over a month as had been her mate's preference. What sparked in Kagome a recollection of all the things she did not want to recollect was the soft, smooth stroking against the side of her leg.

The caress was unintentional. Kouga had rolled onto his side in his sleep, turning his back to Kagome. His tail, swishing with a cognizance all its own, had reached its brown, furry self out and decided to try to make friends with Kagome's thigh by giving it friendly pats.

His fur was glossy and coarse. It tickled as it flicked by, sending Kagome's leg into its version of a blush: goosebumps.

For a time, Kagome watched the offending appendage as it passed over her skin lightly. The urge to touch it, to either pet it or jerk it, took roost in Kagome's hands, so she kept them very close to her chest. From the tip of his tail, Kagome's eyes traveled up to its source. A furious blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck when Kagome found her eyes lingering on Kouga's well shaped backside.

With a huff, Kagome turned away and looked at the ceiling. Silently, she cursed Kouga and his delightful rump. Why did he have to be so nicely shaped? Why did he have to wear so little clothing? Why did he have to be so brainlessly in love with her that, no matter what she did, if Kagome rolled over and began letting her hands run rampant over his skin, he would not stop her?

Why did guilt have to burn like this?

Despite her internal mantra of, "don't look don't look don't look don't look," Kagome found her head turned to the side once more, her eyes tracing the grooves in Kouga's back. He was symmetrical and distinct, every edge built and yet welcoming. For all his hard, muscular appearance while in battle, at rest, he looked soft enough to lay down on.

It would be so easy, Kagome thought, to close my eyes and pretend. I could ignore his voice and his clawless hands. I could ask him to take his hair down. I could...

Letting out a muffled whimper, Kagome rolled over and put her back to him but not before giving his agreeable ass a swift kick.

"Ow!" Kouga declared loudly, jarred from his sleep. "'The hell was that for?" He sat up and looked accusingly at Kagome, who promptly faked sleep.

Kagome suddenly felt very foolish for kicking the innocent wolf. Was it his fault she wanted to grab him by the bum and have her way with him? Kagome frowned. _Yes, it is his stupid fault. _

"Huh? What?" Kagome stammered blearily, feigning a waking blur.

"You just kicked me!" said Kouga indignantly.

Kagome smiled sheepishly. "I did?" she asked.

"Yeah. You woke me up." Kagome grudgingly admitted to herself that Kouga had never looked cuter. He was tousled from sleep and pouting, his shoulders slumped slightly while his hands fell between his sprawled legs.

"Well, you woke me up back, so we're even.," responded Kagome as she ran a hand through her mussed hair. She was overcome by a yawn which she accompanied with a long, languid stretch.

Kouga grumbled a complaint to himself before scratching at a not quite healed wound below his ribs on his left side.

"You hungry?" he asked before giving a delicious looking stretch that made his shoulders pop. Kagome was once again reminded that she was lying in her bed with a muscular, half naked man lounging next to her. She could have slapped herself.

"Yes," Kagome replied quickly, perhaps too quickly to sound comfortable. Kouga cocked his head to the side slightly and looked her over. "I'm starving, but the service here isn't that great."

"How could the service be bad? We're in a regent's palace!"

"I don't know. I doubt Sesshomaru puts up with the crap I deal with." Kagome folded her arms and frowned at the floor. "They always bring my meals to me cold. Plus they make me wait for everything. It'll probably be another hour before they bring me a clean kimono."

Kouga furrowed his brow. "It doesn't work that way, Kagome. You've got to assert yourself."

"Assert myself?" Kagome exclaimed. "You try being a lonely, little human surrounded by demons sometime. I'd like to see you assert yourself!" She threw back her blanket in frustration and climbed out of bed. Perhaps it was the allure of getting out of Kouga's aura that drew Kagome to the window. She told herself she was checking the status of the blizzard. During the night, it seemed, the storm had grown weary. The sky was still low and leaden, but the snow had ceased falling. Had Kagome been a better mood, the garden would have looked rather inviting.

"You're Sesshomaru's sister-in-law, right?" asked Kouga, still slouched on the floor.

"Unfortunately," muttered Kagome.

"Well, whether you know it or not, that gives you a little power."

"Yeah, right. My rank here is just below the scullery maids. I bet those stupid dog tapestries are higher in the pecking order than me." Kagome turned around and leaned against the sill. "You know, I haven't seen Sesshomaru since I got here. He hasn't even spoken to me!"

Kouga wrinkled his nose slightly. "Do you want him to?"

"Oh." She had not thought of that. "I guess not."

In a flash, Kouga was on his feet, strapping on his armor. "So what do you say to hunting down a kimono and then demanding breakfast from those impudent servants?"

"I don't know," Kagome said, looking away from Kouga's brilliant, blue-eyed smile. "I don't want to run around in this, and I think I'd rather not make waves."

"Ah, come on," Kouga urged, gently batting Kagome with his elbow. "What happened to that fiery girl I kidnapped all those years ago?"

"I don't feel very fiery anymore, Kouga. I haven't felt fiery in a long time. I think I've forgotten how."

"Well, I'll remind you. I'll show you how its done." He took her arm in a gentle hold and started tugging her toward the door. "Let's go push around some servants. That's what they're there for."

* * *

For all his blatantly not fastidious ways, his coarse upbringing, and his inelegant etiquette, Kouga walked around the palace like he had lived there his entire life. Had he not needed a bath, Kagome would have thought he blended in quite well.

The first matter to which Kouga saw was finding Kagome a clean kimono. His ways of reaching his goal were unorthodox; Kagome was appalled. Upon entering the main hall, Kouga seized the first servant that passed, a young female, and demanded that she provide the "illustrious sister-in-law of Lord Sesshomaru" a kimono. Though his technique was rather uncouth, it was far more effective than Kagome's method of sitting back quietly and waiting. As grateful as she was to get clothing, Kagome could not help but wonder where Kouga had learned the word illustrious.

With her new kimono draped about her and the knowledge that her clothing would be prompt in the future, having just enduring the embarrassment of standing near Kouga as he threatened the young servant to the brink of tears, Kagome and her new thug headed to the kitchen to demand breakfast.

Watching Kouga shake his fist, consequently shaking the poor old cook clutched in his fist, did little to lessen Kagome's blush. She did, however, notice that no one gave her snide looks anymore. No, they were all too busy giving Kouga very wide berth.

Together, miko and wolf settled down into an empty room typically reserved for entertaining esteemed guests and enjoyed a large, hot, and punctual breakfast. Once more, Kouga displayed his upbringing in his eating habits, but he looked so contented that Kagome could not bring herself to correct him. His flagrant disregard for all the things that could have made him an esteemed guest seemed to lighten Kagome's mood. It was quite refreshing to be around someone who was shamelessly comfortable and casual.

Kouga talked with his mouth full. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth when he thought things were getting too messy. He slurped his tea. He ate with his fingers. He plucked tidbits off Kagome's plate when she said she was done. Kagome had not felt this comfortable since she had arrived in the palace, and Kouga could not seem to cognize her reasons for smiling at him. That made it all more wonderful.

"So what do you do around here?" Kouga asked after a servant came quite promptly to take away their trays.

"I read," Kagome said. She caught sight of Kouga's incredulous expression and added, "A lot."

"The last time I came out here, Sesshomaru had just bought a new masseur from some foreign country. Thailand, I think." Kouga rubbed his chin in thought. "I wonder if he's still around."

"When were you here before?" Kagome asked. "How often do you come to visit?"

Kouga shrugged. "I had to come by a few years ago because I'd just taken over the tribe, and I wanted to make a few changes to our treaty with Lord Dogface."

"Did he let you amend it?"

"Eventually," grumbled Kouga. "We sat in negotiation for an entire day. The bastard kept trying to confuse me by talking in circles. He's sneaky, you know?"

Kagome chuckled. "He seems pretty smart."

"He's manipulative, that's what he is."

Kouga would have continued to describe Sesshomaru in his own terms were it not for the quiet knock at the door. The wolf suddenly sat up straight and alert with a warning at glance toward Kagome so she would not reply. He looked thoughtful as he sniffed the air. The knock sounded again, and Kagome was given an absent gesture signaling that it was safe to respond.

"Yes?" Kagome called.

The door slid open to reveal a bundled up little girl looking rather tortoise-like with her small head peeking out from her abundant layers. She bowed quickly and scurried inside without waiting to be invited in.

"Good morning, Kagome-san!" Rin said, ever cheerful.

"Good morning, Rin," replied Kagome. "You look like you're ready to go outside."

"I am!" chirped the girl as she settled herself between Kagome and Kouga, paying little attention to the wolf and his quizzical expression. "It's finally stopped snowing. Sesshomaru-sama said I could not go outside until I'd had my breakfast, but I just finished. I'm so excited!"

"Wait a second," Kouga said, plugging up any lull in the conversation with which Kagome might have filled with her response. Both human females turned to the interjecting youkai. Wrinkling his nose, Kouga hooked his index finger around Rin's unbound, dark hair. With the look of a scientist peering into a petri dish accidentally left out over night, Kouga pulled her hair back and examined the side of her head. Rin giggled.

"You're a human," Kouga said to her pointedly not pointed ear.

She shook her raven head, pulling her hair from his loose grip. "Yep. I'm like Kagome-san."

"Who are you supposed to be?" asked the wolf.

"Rin," she replied quickly, beaming and glowing. "Who are you?"

Kagome hid her laughter behind her hand.

Kouga gave her a bewildered look before replying, "Kouga. What's it to you?"

"I saw you yesterday, Kouga-san, at the gate. I've never seen anyone speak like you did to Lord Sesshomaru before." Rin shook her head. She turned to Kagome. "You should have heard him, Kagome-san. He was so informal!"

"That's Kouga for you," replied Kagome, tossing a sweet smile at the wolf.

"The old dog deserved it."

"I disagree," Rin said indignantly as she sat herself up a little higher. In all of her silken barriers against the cold, she looked rather like a bird who had just ruffled its feathers in an attempt to intimidate a predator. She turned her nose up a notch. "I found your behavior inurbane."

From the sound of the girl's usage, Kagome could tell Rin was repeating something the Demon Lord had said in her presence. Though she could easily be irritated by Rin's attitude, Kagome merely found the entire performance ridiculously endearing. Between Rin's conditioned and not quite mastered pompous air and Kouga's endeavor to hide the fact that he did not know what inurbane meant, Kagome was better entertained than she thought she would ever be within Sesshomaru's walls.

"A little snubbing is good for him. It builds character." Kouga folded his arms across his chest, determined to not let this little female, this little human girl win the upper hand in their debate of the psychological value of cutting back the overgrowth of the ego. Little did Kouga know, it took a great deal more than the impudence of one wolf demon, whatever the status, to trim Sesshomaru's shrubbery.

"Again, Kouga-san, I disagree."

"Listen," Kagome interjected, deciding it was best to put a stop to their argument before wolf and girl-child resorted to physical violence, which seemed to be, considering Rin's love for her lord and Kouga's love for himself, a very viable possibility. "What are you up to now Rin? Perhaps you'd like a little company?"

And with that, the girl's Sesshomaru impression faded. Her shoulders rose excitedly as she turned her back to Kouga. "I was just about to go outside, Kagome-san. I would enjoy it very much if you came with me."

Kagome frowned internally. Rin had mentioned playing in the snow, had she not? Now Kagome found herself suckered into a romp outdoors with the girl. Just when Kagome began to ask for a rain check, or more appropriately, a snow check, Rin pulled out the secret weapon of her big, sad brown eyes, the trump card Kagome knew Rin possessed because she herself had used it on unsuspecting hanyou before. Rin's eyes grew wide, her mouth grew pouty, and her hands found their way into a little beseeching ball against her chest.

Kagome sighed. "Sure."

"Hurray!" Rin exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Quickly, Kagome-san, put on something to keep you warm and come outside!" Rip leapt to her little feet and dashed toward the sealed shoji doors leading out into the blanketed garden. Without regard for her less prepared companions, Rin threw open the doors and bounded into the snow like something undomesticated reintroduced to its natural habitat.

Before the girl would take five steps, she slipped and fell face down in the snow, disappearing from view. Kagome gasped and sat forward, ready to jump up and aid her young friend; however, Rin quickly bounced back up, joyously coated in white fluff. She shook her head and laughed loudly.

"Come on, Kagome-san!" she called, springing up and down. "You can come, too, Kouga-san," added Rin before pivoting on her booted heel and trudging further into the snow.

"Goody," muttered Kouga lamely.

Kagome was brought a second and third kimono by a terrified little female before being presented with a neatly folded, washed, and slightly fragrant red haori. The sight of the fire-rat robe made Kagome suddenly self-conscious, concerned that its presence would offend Kouga. While the wolf had his back turned, Kagome hurried pulled it on, reveling in the feel while battling back a combined army of guilt and sad remembrance. Kouga turned to beckon Kagome out only to find her studying the floor, looking timid in a haori he could not help but recognize.

"Kagome," Kouga said, drawing her attention up. He watched her for a moment before smiling and gesturing toward the door. "You warm enough?"

She hesitated, waiting for him to do something. But what? Kagome steeled herself before realizing how silly she was being. What would Kouga do? Tear the haori off her? Rip it to shreds? Of course not. He would smile compassionately at her and hurt inside quietly, feeling betrayed, feeling like a runner-up who had only just been told that he had not won.

She had not known Kouga could be so forgiving.

"I'm set," replied Kagome, grinning at the youkai standing before her.

Into the icy detritus, they plowed, Rin bouncing ahead of them. Kouga and Kagome walked side-by-side in a companionable silence until they found themselves on the receiving end of a guerilla snowball attack launched from the protection of the hidden flank of a decorative stone. Kouga, as always, reacted protectively, pulling Kagome back away from the fray, but she was quick to wriggle from his grip and initiate her own campaign against the clever little general crouched out of sight.

After a week of days that had passed like eternities, Kagome thought she would never laugh again. She feared she would never know the joy of a careless game, the exhilaration of a chase that was neither perilous nor dire, the sting of cold in her skin instead of in her heart. Rin's raucous laughter sounded like spring trying to find purchase on the slick ice of winter as she darted from one shelter to another, lithely dodging the barrage of snowballs aimed at her in between. She had the advantage of being small. She had the advantage of knowing the garden: how many steps from one rock to another, what parts of the path tended to ice over and what parts did not, where low stones waited to trip the unaware. She could have run the garden without her sight. And she looked so happy. The little girl was overjoyed to exercise her knowledge of her home, ignorant to how much she took it for granted.

Kagome could not even remember how many steps were in the flight of stairs leading from her foyer to the landing in her modern, Tokyo home.

"Do you surrender?" Rin called, peeking over a bush that resembled a large wad of misshapen marshmallow.

"Never!" responded Kagome, heaving a kamikaze snowball, knowing that her chances of hitting the little target of Rin's head to be slim. As was expected, her artillery collided with the shrub, knocking some of the lingering snow from its leaves.

Kouga brushed clinging flakes from his shoulder guards. "The kid's quick," he noted before shaking out his hair.

"She probably picked up some things from living with youkai for so long," offered Kagome absently, absorbed in seeking a strategy against the wee battle prodigy. "Hmm," Kagome said, looking down at the cupped missile in her red, puckered fingers. "I don't think trying to hit her from this distance is going to work. Do you think we could sneak up on her?"

"Kagome, she's just a kid," Kouga reminded her, sensing that the female might be taking the battle a little too seriously.

"Yeah, I know," Kagome waved his remark off. "We could charge her. I bet we could run faster than her."

The wolf watched her skeptically. "Whatever you say, Kagome."

"Good!" Kagome declared, pulling her fist toward her body triumphantly.

Kouga followed Kagome, refusing to enjoy himself in this mock battle. He tossed snowballs when Kagome commanded him to, but made an effort for all present to know that he thought then entire event was inane. What he found even sillier was the way that both females, upon reaching a head-on confrontation, pummeled each other mercilessly before collapsing in the snow, laughing rambunctiously. They rolled, clutching their abdomens, dissolved in giggles in a way that was reserved for women only and, therefore, entirely beyond Kouga. He stood over them, watching the display, wondering if their behavior was common to females in general or just humans.

Once their war was resolved, Kagome showed Rin how to make a snow angel. From this demonstration, Kouga remained separate as well. Kagome then instructed Rin in how to make a snowman, which, in Kouga's opinion looked nothing like a man.

"It's three lumps of snow on top of each other," Kouga said when Kagome chided him playfully for not partaking in their creativity. "I don't see the appeal."

"You're no fun," replied Kagome.

"I can be lots of fun, but this is just stupid."

"Oh, come on, Kouga. It doesn't snow like this very often; you should enjoy it."

Kouga opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it and jerked forward like he had just received a poke in the back. He frowned and turned around, revealing a little girl standing behind him, clutching his tail in a two fist grip.

"I didn't notice you had a tail, Kouga-san," Rin said.

"You didn't ask to touch it either!" he snapped, jerking the accosted appendage away and holding it close in his hand.

"Oh," Rin said, seemingly unaffected by the wolf's succinct reply. "Can I touch it?"

"No!"

"But it's so cute, Kouga-san. Don't you agree, Kagome-san?"

For a man who had once declared that he would never in his entire long life inflict pain upon Kagome, Kouga's expression looked threatening. His irises were circumambient with white, his mouth pressed into a line. Had he not just insisted that it was beneficial to one's character to keep the pride kempt and controlled? As a matter of fact, he had. Kagome grinned.

"It's absolutely adorable, if you ask me," Kagome conceded.

Rin let out an exuberant cheer and lunged for Kouga's tail one more.

"Hey!" the wolf yelped as he leapt backwards.

"I just want to pet it, Kouga-san!"

Is it not incredible how the things we loathe, the things we would wish to sweep under the rug and disown and ignore weasel their way back into our knowing? It seems the harder we fight to repel something, the stronger its magnetic reply sounds. And how often do we find that these things, these tiresome aspects, after clawing themselves free of the shallow graves we dig for them, find themselves little nooks in our libraries of penchants, nestled between our favorite pair of shoes and our favorite meal. (As fate would have it, Kagome did like oysters. Tough luck, Sesshomaru.)

They take root in the cracks of the pavement you lay down against them, pushing up shoots and blooms that beam their most contrary grin. Then, after you walk down the same sidewalk enough times, passing the same little flowers every morning, your dislikes in which you can have more faith than you can in your friends become less repugnant, less antagonistic. They are there every morning, even after you hose them down with the year old can of hair spray you found under your sink of denial. Until one evening, strolling home from a long day of work, you pass the flowers and pause. You think for a moment. You turn and stoop to dig up one of those little blossom and take it home to put in a clay pot on your window sill.

So we take out the rug and beat it, we call our estranged siblings, and we pay the water bill that has been sitting on the table in the foyer for weeks. And the things we loathe are no more.

By dusk, Rin was exhausted. In a comically out of place row, Rin, Kouga, and Kagome sat, dangling their feet off the edge of the covered, wooden walkway spanning the snowy garden from Kagome's living area to the main hall. Kagome snuggled down into the haori, her haori, and sipped the hot tea brought out to them by a suddenly sycophantic servant. She watched detachedly as Kouga recounted stories of the blizzards in the mountains while Rin added her commentary excitedly. In the little girl's lap, she held a long, brown tail, which she stroked affectionately.

"This snow is nothing compared to what me and my pack have seen," Kouga said, his chest slightly expanded with pride. "We've had to brave much worse than this."

"What's your pack like?" Rin asked before lifting her tea to her lips with her free hand.

"They're the best their is," replied Kouga, ignoring Kagome's quiet laughter. "Loyal and strong, and I'm they're leader."

"You are?" The girl's eyes widened.

Boy, is this good for Kouga's ego, Kagome thought. She's stroking more than his tail.

"Yep." He smiled, his fangs peeking out from under his upper lip. "Have been for a few years now."

"Then you're royalty, aren't you?"

"Sure am. Kouga, the Wolf Prince. That's what they call me back home."

"Don't lie to the girl," Kagome said, smiling behind her tea cup. "They don't call you all that. I can't imagine them being so formal-"

Kagome was cut short by the clatter and crack of a ceramic cup dropping to the boards of the walkway. Both Kouga and Kagome turned to look at the source of the sound: a suddenly ashen and motionless Rin.

"W-wolf Prince?" she stammered, her unblinking eyes leveled on Kouga.

"Yeah," he replied, the hue of concern coloring his cadence.

Rin slid her gaze to Kagome, as though seeking confirmation.

"Is something wrong, Rin-chan?" Kagome asked as she leaned forward slightly.

The little girl, pale and gaping, stared at Kouga, her veil of amicable ease blowing away in the gradually rising wind to be replaced by a ballast of wide-eyed fear that weighed their cheer down until it sank into the snow.

"Rin-chan?" Kagome repeated.

"I'm sorry," Rin said quickly, pushing Kouga's tail off her lap and standing up. "Forgive me for leaving so suddenly." She was beginning to shake as she shuffled around the jagged pieces of gravity-stricken tea cup. "I must... I must go. Please excuse..." The little girl hurried off toward the main building before she could even finish her sentence.

Upon seeing the distressed silence in the conversation, the wind decided now would be an appropriate time to strike up the band and perform her favorite requiem.

* * *

He had faced armies in his time. Standing alone, his own comrades too frightened to ride out with him, he held his sword firmly and stared down his enemies as they charged by the hundreds. He had battled beasts many times his size without hesitation or thought. He had stood up to his own father... once, a very long time ago. He had waited tearlessly as his mother was burned in her wicker casket, the fragrance of her scorching flesh wafting on the air carelessly. He had stood in flames, strode into water, stepped off cliffs, tugged on Superman's cape, spat into the wind, pulled the mask off the ol' Lone Ranger, and he had messed around with Jim and his successor, Slim.

When looking through his immense archive of emotions he had felt but never betrayed, Sesshomaru could find none as alarming as waking up to the sound of his ward crying.

With little regard for the half-asleep female curled up as far from him as the futon allowed, Sesshomaru threw back the blanket and dressed quickly. Sokkenai stirred, but did not turn to question him. In his exigency, Sesshomaru did not even pause to ponder why the female had fallen asleep in his bed at all. She usually was quick to find her way back to her own bedchamber once they both had had their fill. Had he given it thought, Sesshomaru would have felt the flame of his pride fanned at the thought that his pseudo-mate was too exhausted to lumber her way back to her own room.

But that mattered little. Rin was upset; Sesshomaru knew where his assets ranked in value.

Rin's bedroom was a distance from his, close enough that he could hear her but far enough that she could not hear him. Swiftly and silently, Sesshomaru moved through his hall, the sound of his charge's quiet sobbing growing louder with each step.

He paused outside her door where the smell of salt was strong. As he reached to open the shoji door, the weeping stopped. Sesshomaru hesitated, puzzled by her abrupt cease, and listened very closely. From within the immense room, probably too big for such a small person, Sesshomaru feared, a quiet sniffing sounded followed by a muffled, wet noise. Sesshomaru could picture Rin wiping her running nose on the sleeve of her sleeping yukata.

_Disgusting, _he thought out of habit. Habits are odd in their unending usage even after we stop needing or believing in them. If there was one thing Rin had taught Sesshomaru, it was that habits are foolish investments when life is nothing if not mutable.

He could only assume that Rin had sensed his presence outside her door and had stopped crying because of it. He knew Rin could feel his youki, and he could not help but admit that her sudden silence was her desire to hide her pain or fear. This habit, one that she did not always have, was undoubtedly one she had learned from him.

Giving himself no time to linger on the strange sensation of being mimicked, Sesshomaru slid the door open and entered his ward's bedchamber silently. The girl's back was to him, her trembling shoulders evincing repressed sobs.

"Rin," Sesshomaru said firmly, knowing better than to think he was capable of comforting her.

"Yes, my lord?" the girl asked, her voice quivering.

"Why are you crying?" Sesshomaru felt rather awkward, standing over her bed. If his intent was to coax her into speaking, which it was, he knew he needed to do better than intimidate her. Sesshomaru sank to the floor and sat a short distance from Rin's futon.

"I do not feel well, my lord. I'm sorry for waking you; I will be quiet if my lord wishes it."

"Are you ill?" asked the Demon Lord. He disliked speaking to her back but was willing to endure it if the girl was not inclined to face him.

"Not really," replied Rin. "My scars hurt."

For three years, Sesshomaru had lived with the peculiar little girl. In that time, she had challenged just about everything he was certain he knew; she had asked him every question he did not wish to answer, and had dredged up every memory he thought he had banished from the catacombs of his experiences. Most often, he would give her a terse, vague answer or dismissal and then remain in the silence to ponder what her unintentionally intrusive little self had triggered in him. He loathed it. He loathed the self-consciousness and the uncertainty and the insecurity, but he could not bring himself to loathe the girl.

He had learned her intricacies, the secret passages through the labyrinth of her childhood reasoning. This was a feat, Sesshomaru knew, because the girl often lacked logic and certainly saw nothing wrong with picking him up from one twisting corridor in her mind and carrying him somewhere completely different. Things did not need to make sense to Rin; Sesshomaru awaited her adolescence tentatively.

Since her revival, now celebrated as her birthday since her original date of emergence was unknown, Rin had fretted over her scars. She would only bathe and dress under the watchful eye of a select few maids and the Demon Lord himself. In the summer, she was hesitant to disrobe to play in the ocean with the other children for fear of exposing the jagged, puckered, pink bands that streaked across her right side.

Sesshomaru had hoped that she would someday learn to be comfortable with her own nudity as was common in youkai society, but he could not deny the twinge he felt when he saw her scars. They were pointed reminders. They were rosy banners of mortality carved into the girl that waved tauntingly, reiterating to him that he was housing a human, which was reprehensible to say the least. And while playing relentlessly with Sesshomaru's shame, they also chanted cruelly that he would not, could not house her forever.

"What has upset you?" Sesshomaru asked, his voice even and quiet.

"It's silly, my lord," she replied, snuggling down deeper into her blanket.

"Tell me."

"I played outside in the snow, today, Sesshomaru-sama. Kagome-san and Kouga-san played with me." She paused, sniffing as quietly as she could.

Sesshomaru knew immediately the source of her fear. Kouga was a wolf. How careless of him not to warn the girl. "You are not in danger, Rin."

"I know, my lord. I'm being foolish." She did not sound convinced.

"Rin," Sesshomaru said, his tone gently commanding. "Look this way."

The girl hesitated, reluctant to show her lord her tears. She knew he did not like to repeat himself, and Rin would never dream of disobeying a direct order. Holding her blanket close, Rin rolled over to face Sesshomaru. She pulled the cover up over her nose, allowing only her puffy, red eyes to peek out.

For a moment, Sesshomaru watched Rin. He knew not how to assure her of his sincerity if his gaze did not suffice. "You are _not_ in danger."

And suffice, it did. "Thank you, my lord."

"Will you sleep now?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good." Sesshomaru saw the girl's smile in her swollen eyes as they followed him on his ascent to his feet. At his full height once more, Sesshomaru was reminded just how small Rin was and just how much smaller she had been those three years ago. She was still petite; Sesshomaru hoped she would remain so.

As the Demon Lord turned away from his ward and began in the direction of the door, a little voice from behind him sounded, unmuffled by the blanket. "Good night, Sesshomaru-sama."

He paused and looked back at her. "Good night, Rin." She smiled at him once more before turning onto her stomach and snuggling down into her futon with a sigh.

Sesshomaru exited her bedroom as quickly and quietly as he had entered, closing the shoji screen at his back. He waited outside the door, listening closely to Rin. Her breath was now even and slow, free of gasp or sniffle.

When he returned to his own chamber, Sokkenai was absent from his bed, only her heady aroma lingering in the mass of rumpled sheets. Ignoring the scent, Sesshomaru returned to his bed and willed his senses to settle. And as he allow sleep to creep in, the Demon Lord absently thanked the girl for giving him a reason to throw the wolf youkai out of his abode.

Somewhere on the other side of the palace, across the gardens that were now covered in a fresh and ever growing layer of snow, another female human curled in her bed. She could not sleep for the shivering. The blizzard had, apparently only taken a day long hiatus before returning with a vengeance, and this human female had one dying brazier and two blankets, one of which was meant to go across her spare futon.

Somewhere on the other side of her bedroom, a wolf youkai dug through a closet, trying to find another blanket to drape over the human. But there was nothing.

What fun cold has at our expense. Certainly there is a frigid goddess somewhere, watching our petty endeavors against her as she laughs her ass off.

The air temperature plummeted faster than a lemming who had stopped taking his Zoloft. The wolf could hear the human trembling, her teeth chattering, and, though he was not cold, he could not sleep for the shivering as well.

A silent agreement was formed between the human, the wolf, and the goddess, and into the bed Kouga climbed. Laying on his stomach, his head resting against his hands, Kouga was careful to give Kagome a great deal of space.

They remained distant long enough for that despondent little lemming to choke out his last breath. Before he could even begin to sink, Kagome was flush with Kouga, her chilly hands shoved under his stomach and her marbly cheek pressed to his shoulder.

When Kouga began to shift his position, bringing his arms down to wrap them around Kagome, she bit his deltoid hard.

"Don't move," she commanded, unwilling to free her hands from their now toasty niche to stop him.

It was bad enough to be so close to him; Kagome knew not how she would react to his embracing her. Against her hands, she could feel his aortic pulse mixed with the sweat gathering on her skin pressed so closely to his. She could feel the taut fibers of his arm under her cheek. She could feel his ribs pushing into her solar plexus when he inhaled. She could feel his legs against hers, his hip against her groin. He fit perfectly.

"I've been thinking, Kagome," Kouga said, hoping she was not as painfully aware of how close there were as he was.

"Yeah?" Kagome asked. Kouga could feel the articulation of her jaw.

"You don't have to stay here," he offered irresolutely.

Kagome hesitated. "Where are you suggesting I go?" His shoulder tensed as Kouga shifted slightly. He cleared his throat.

"You could come with me. The guys would love to see you again. You wouldn't be so lonely all the time, either."

In the dark, Kagome was glad she could not see Kouga's face, his handsome, blue eyes imploring hopefully. She let out a long, rueful sigh. "And in return, I'd agree to be your mate?"

"No," he answered hurriedly, clearly trying to hide the fact that that was his ultimate motive. "Not unless you wanted to... I'd like you to."

Kagome found herself torn between keeping warm and keeping comfortable. Though her more logical judgment told her to sacrifice the feeling in her hands for the clarity of her message, she ignored that voice and absently wiggled her fingers. She felt Kouga tense at the movement.

"No, Kouga," said Kagome with as much finality as she could muster. She wished she could tell him how difficult it was so say that, how heart wrenching it was to know that she was voluntarily giving herself over to a desolate life that would, even in the height of summer, feel like a mobius strip of blizzard.

"I would take good care of you, Kagome. Better than Sesshomaru ever could."

"That's not the question, Kouga."

"Then what is?" He held up his head and looked at Kagome's face, watching her with his brow furrowed, his shadowed eyes nearing desperation.

Her better judgment finally won over, and Kagome shoved away from the wolf. "You really don't understand, do you?"

He frowned. "No, I don't. Explain it to me."

Kagome rolled onto her back and stared at her only counsel, the ceiling. "I really did love Inuyasha. I loved him so much... I can't even tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know how!" Kagome snapped. Her fist pounding the mattress, she sat up quickly and glared at Kouga. "Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?"

"You're not the only one who's mourned, Kagome. It's not fun, but you survive it," Kouga replied, sounding irritated.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" She huffed, wanting to hit the graceful lines inthe wolf'sback. "I want to leave this place so badly! I would give just about anything to escape this hell... but I can't go with you, Kouga."

"I wouldn't force you into anything you don't want to do, Kagome. I thought you knew that."

She shook her head and slipped back under the blanket. "I do know that. I can't go away with you because... you wouldn't have to force me. You wouldn't even have to ask me twice."

"Kagome," he began, pushing himself up on his elbows.

"No, let me finish," she snapped, cutting him short. "It's breaking my heart to do this, to make myself stay here, Kouga. I would go with you... and be your mate, too, but..." her voice threatened to crack with the weight of unshed tears. "I can't."

"Why not?" Kouga held himself up on a single elbow and pulled her over to look him in the eye with his free hand. He could see how near she was to tears. He wanted to hug her, but he knew she would not let him.

"Because," Kagome breathed. "Inuyasha would never forgive me."

"Kagome... Inuyasha is dead," Kouga said cautiously. The female jerked away from him.

"I know that," she murmured.

"That's not very fair to Inuyasha, don't you think? It's not him who'd never forgive you. You'd never forgive yourself if you came with me."

"I'll never forgive myself already, Kouga! I told you what happened... what I did."

Kouga rolled onto his back and shifted until he could feel Kagome's arm lightly against his. "Accidents happened, Kagome. You didn't do it on purpose."

"I know."

"Then why can't you forgive yourself?"

"I'll forgive myself when I remember how to feel."

"You looked like you were having a pretty good time today. You must have felt something."

"That's not enough."

"Why not?"

Kagome sighed. "I don't know."

Kouga watched her for a long moment that stretched out in the bed with them, stroking its lover, Silence. Kouga wished he knew what she meant. He wished he could offer her the magic cure, and he could not understand why she would not even consider what he was offering. He was giving her his loyalty, his adoration. But it was not enough. The good times he gave her were just not enough.

"Well, when you figure it out, I'll be waiting."

"Kouga... you're sweet... and stupid."

"It's not the first time I've been told that."

He heard Kagome chuckle quietly before she rolled onto her side, facing him. Once more, she thrust her hands under him and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "Don't move, or I'll bite you again."

He snickered. "What a threat, a bite from a human."

"I bite hard, though. You have to admit it."

"Yeah, sure," he replied. "Go to sleep, Kagome."

"Good night, Kouga... and... thank you."

"Sure."

Kagome could hear the hurt in his voice, the rejection cut so deep that he could not even show it. And, as much as it hurt Kagome to tell Kouga no, as much as it hurt her to lie to him and tell him she did not know why he was not enough, she could not bring herself to agree to go with him.

All the lust in the world, all the lust she felt brewing in her for an imitation would not fill the cavity where her heart had once been. She did not know what would, but pushing love with a man who could never be what she wanted him to be was certainly not the answer. Once more, Kagome found herself without the heart to tell Kouga the truth. She should have told him not to wait for her.

But Kouga was very warm, and for the night, he would do.


	4. Nothing But Pain

**To my reviewers: **This chapter is dedicated to Lyn and Malicious Panther Lo for all the vibrant, embellished, elaborate feedback they so generously gifted upon me. I am forever grateful. I can only hope to be as well spoken and artfully verbose as they.

Installment four brought to you buy **Ego-Fuel**, provided by Dia and her ass-kicking review. **Ego-Fuel, We Make You Feel Less Worthless!**

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Predawn is the most beautiful time of the day. Those who wake in those hours, though few are present enough to enjoy their consciousness, see how the world truly looks. The landscape, hidden in darkness and waiting thirstily for those first long draws of sun, is in its most natural form, its shape at birth. As we were brought into existence naked and trembling, terrified and enthralled and expectant of a world that we could not cognize until that flashbulb moment, the earth was born very similarly. When Earth first gained consciousness, she was scared as well, waiting in the dark for what she did not know. She sensed, in her immense, eternal knowing that there was something more, something titanic just about to be born, but Earth could never truly wrap her mind around a concept as grandiose as the sun. The first stones, merely clumps of dust that were merely clumps of atoms, could only imagine what waited for her as she drifted, hoping to one day form something larger, more influential, more significant in the millennia to come.

There was no light present in Earth's first memories. She was small and unnoticed, but she knew something incredible would happen to her. She could divine nothing concrete, but she felt, as only a planet could, that she would be more and that light would be with her.

And the day the sun burst into creation, long before Earth would ever reach maturity, Earth nearly wet herself with excitement. It had been petrifying in the dark, charged with nervous supposition of an existence of which she could only dream, but her dreams had been sweet and reassuring, telling her of a strong, warm lover who would give her everything she would ever need. With a long sigh of relief, Earth decided that she was indeed fond of Sun and resolved to set up a permanent residence at the perfect distance: not too close and not too far.

Their dance began. And, oh, it was beautiful.

In those moments before day, Earth remembers that feeling at her birth. She recalls the darkness and the cold. She revisits a time when she was small and alone, but madly in love with and absolutely terrified by the thought of the mammoth that waited just below her horizon.

Earth's innocence, her unknowing gives space for the thoughts of her children. In the vast void where her confidence and growth usually hung during the day, the universe aches for a certainty only brought by the pondering of other, much smaller beings. For that reason, the Demon Lord, ghostly white and wind tugged, stood on his balcony in contemplation of too many things for him to be comfortable.

Below him, he could see his sister-in-law's residence, icicle-encrusted and snow-caked. Within those rooms, he could imagine her, in all her human inferiority, curled into a tight ball, milking her own body for warmth.

Did he feel guilt because of his treatment of her?

No, he did not, and for some reason that made him feel a little guilty.

The girl was his responsibility; he knew that very well. There was no possible way she would ever survive on her own. With his other responsibilities, the Demon Lord was quite attentive. He was, dare the author tread so far to say, passionate about his obligations. They gave him purpose when the other aspects of his infinite existence did not. Where everything else seemed flippant, his duty reminded him of his honor, and his honor was what got him out of bed each morning.

Sesshomaru had spent his entire life, from his naked, trembling, terrified birth preparing for his responsibilities when he became sovereign. He had never lived for a greater reason; however, there had been a time in his more reckless adolescence that he had considered a meaning beyond his birthright. All the delicious discoveries he made in those years had broadened his horizons immensely, giving him perspective of a life outside lessons and training, outside obligations and burdens.

He had even gone as far as to attempt an escape, an event about which Sesshomaru was still bruised. Had Sokkenai ever learned of this little occurrence, she would have devoured him whole and worn his pride like a cloak. She would leave him in a murky puddle of his regret and shame. His behavior had been ignoble to a severe degree, and he had suffered a self-inflicted wound from which he knew he would never recover. He could not describe his actions with enough self-loathing to properly convey his oppressive shame. The author will now attempt where the Demon Lord feared to tread: Sesshomaru had run away.

His father, the mighty, beloved, bepedestaled Toga-sama, the first and most exulted Inutaisho, the male who had begun and almost ended a dynasty, had taken leave of his lands for the semiannual journey made by all the regents and lords of significant clans to convene in counsel in the north, at the home of the Sarutaisho. The journey would last for nearly two months, carrying the Inutaisho away his ancestral home and far from his seat of power.

Many of the lords made the nervous temporary passing of the gauntlet to retainers or trusted advisors, but not Toga-sama. He had a son of age in whom he had unwavering faith. Not once had Sesshomaru ever led Toga-sama to believe the boy was anything less than wholly dedicated. Beaming with pride, Toga-sama informed all open ears with relish that his son, Sesshomaru, the august and venerable heir to the throne, would be acting as regent in his stead.

Sesshomaru had accepted with grace, as he had been trained to do. He was nearing sixty years of age, not quite full maturity, but certainly well beyond the tender reaches of childhood; he understood the albatross that acting in his father's place would be. And, despite his decades of preparation, it was not a burden he wished to bear.

"Who says you have to?" Naiou, a green eyed female asked from her perch in his lap. "If it is such an incubus, why not doff it off on someone else?" She was the only one who knew. With no one else had Sesshomaru shared his apprehension. And to his chagrin, Naiou had laughed at him as she so delighted to do when she felt he was taking something out of perspective. Sesshomaru hated her diminution but craved it in the most unnerving way that always had him seeking her out with furtive desperation.

Sesshomaru chuckled mirthlessly. "It is not so easy as that. This is a duty far greater than any I have ever received."

She shrugged her naked, slender shoulders. "Toga-sama is coming back, isn't he?"

"He is."

"Then it's really not all that much, Maru-kun. Perhaps when you actually inherit then you can fret like this, but there is no need to feel so stifled over something so temporary." She put her hands over his where they rested resignedly against her thighs.

"This is my first trial. I cannot fail."

A honey laugh trickled out of Naiou as she planted a warm kiss on his collar bone. "You're so serious!"

"I must be."

"No, you mustn't, Maru-kun! Is is so inconceivable to you?"

"Is what inconceivable?"

Naiou gave him the grin she always put on when she was feeling mischievous. Her emerald eyes flickered as she allowed her fangs to peek out and her nose wrinkled slightly. "The world outside," she replied. "There is a great big world out there that has nothing to do with trials and duty. Out there, you can make what you want of it, and if you want it to have nothing to do with obligations than it doesn't have to."

Sesshomaru closed his eyes when the events, poorly hidden behind a brittle shell of arrogance, became recollection and moved into the space for rent of his thoughts. _What a fool. What a naive, childish fool_.

He should have known she was lying. She was telling him the biggest, juiciest, most appealing lie he had ever heard. There was no such thing as a life without obligations; Sesshomaru learned that very quickly... but not quickly enough.

Toga-sama left at dawn, and by dusk, Sesshomaru was preparing for his own departure. Naiou, with resplendent, sensuous words, had woven a vibrant tapestry of the life that they could share, simply buried in one another, disregarding such frivolous things as onuses. She had told him of the world outside the walls. And it was the most glorious thing Sesshomaru had ever heard.

Hand in hand, they slipped out of the palace into the humid summer night. Through the city, they spirited the young heir to the west through shadows and back passages. Once outside the city walls, Naiou tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him into a run. Together, they darted through the sleeping forest toward the sea. When dirt faded into sand and the sound of wind through trees gave way to that of crashing ocean waves, Naiou threw her arms around her lover and they tumbled to the ground. In a panting, sweaty knot of limbs and trunks, they laid in silence.

For the first time, Sesshomaru listened. He truly listened. In the distance, the waves crashed recklessly against one another, lapping at the shore affectionately before receding back to do it again. Closer to his ear, he heard the air pulled in and pushed out of Naiou's lungs. He heard the wind blowing over them, ignoring them for wind, like all conscious creatures, always had better things to do when at the beach. Sesshomaru liked the feeling of being ignored. It was alien and liberating. He liked the feeling of such powerful things going on without his accord. The ocean churned regardless of him. Naiou breathed without his consent.

"You see?" Naiou asked. "Do you see it now?"

Sesshomaru could have laid there, listening to the elements for the rest of existence's stroll down the figure eight. "Yes. I see."

As adolescents often do when given a shared privacy or when wallowing in elation or whenever they felt like it, the young heir and the female weasel youkai began to make love in the sand. They rejoiced in their sensations. They indulged in each other. Never before had Sesshomaru felt so truly youkai, so unbound and undomesticated. They reveled in the freedom of it all.

In a nest made of shed clothing and displaced sand, they lay, breathing and existing unabashedly. Around them, the world continued unnoticed; time sauntered by without a second glance.

Sesshomaru watched the stars as he had never done before, and he was reminded of his size in comparison to much greater things.

"What do you see?" Naiou asked as she absently traced the veins in the striped arm that she had pulled against her solar plexus.

Sesshomaru was not sure if she meant what he saw in the sky or what he saw in his newfound deliverance. He decided to answer both. "Something on which I have never reflected before."

Naiou giggled quietly as she brought the back of his hand to her lips. "Do you like what you see?"

"Very much."

She sighed contentedly. "Where would you like to go next, Maru-kun? We could go anywhere."

"For now, we will remain here. I will consider our proceeding in the morning," replied Sesshomaru, enjoying the way the words moved across his tongue. They tasted careless, a flavor he had only just enjoyed for the first time.

"That sounds wonderful to me."

On the edge of Sesshomaru's consciousness, now spread far in the depth of his parasympathetic overhaul, something jabbed. It was a sharp sensation as though someone were poking the butt of a blade into the tenderized flesh of his awareness. His attention was drawn away from the stars. He flinched as he only allowed himself to do in the presence of Naiou.

"What's the matter?" Naiou asked, her eyes widened slightly with concern. She turned to her side and leaned over Sesshomaru to get a better look at his face. He looked away from her and concentrated on the poke in his perception.

Sesshomaru shook his head slightly.

Naiou tittered quietly behind her hand. "Don't disrupt such a peaceful evening, Maru-kun. Whatever it is can wait." She walked her fingers down the curving trail of his clavicle before picking up a tousled lock of hair and twirling it absently.

The heir glanced at his lover. Something in her laughter sounded unnatural, seemed forced.

He felt the jab once more, harder now that he was aware of it. Naiou made a dramatic display of flopping down across his chest.

"I love the beach at night, don't you?" she asked in a smooth, sensual voice. Her hand, migrating south for the winter that she sensed he was about to drop on her, stroked his chest with feathery pressure.

"I must leave," Sesshomaru declared as he pushed Naiou off him and began to dress, barely taking time to shake the sand out of his clothes.

"But, Maru-"

"There is something wrong. I must leave," he repeated more firmly, his trepidation mounting.

"Maru-kun." Naiou rose to her feet and pulled her clothing about her. "You don't really want to go back, do you? You want to stay here with me." She giggled. "You look so worried. Surely nothing could have happened. You've barely been gone-"

"You may return if you wish," Sesshomaru interrupted succinctly. He wondered why Naiou, who seemed content to remain at the beach, was dressing so quickly. She looked a little stung by his terseness but did not hesitate to run after him when he took off in the direction of his home.

That was the night that everything fell apart. That night was the end of Sesshomaru's Beginning, and the next morning, when he rose to pick up the pieces in the morning light, was the first day of his Rest.

By this time, the sun had peeked over the mountains in the east. Earth sighed in relief. Sesshomaru sighed in inanition. Alone on his balcony, he felt a sort of solidarity with the land, his land, his easy-earned and hard-kept land. It would seem that Earth, in her love for the sun, had fallen into a pattern that could not be broken, even if she had desired it. The wheels on the cart of time had gouged out furrows in the road of existence, and now they were stuck, wearing the same grooves deeper and deeper.

Sesshomaru clenched his single hand tightly around the railing before him. He had dug his ruts in the road with his memories, carving out his disgraces. He had three of them: one for his mother, one for his father, and one for Inuyasha. For some reason, they looked distinctly grave-shaped.

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No sensation known to man is more comforting than being held. Our systems are organized so that without the touch of another, without the consoling caress of a body other than our own, we cease to function as humans and resort back to the animalistic propensities stowed away in our brain stems. Children who are not held will grow, but they blossom into something merely human shaped, lacking the essential hardware to operate properly. They were not raised with the first and fundamental form of love we can know: touch. When you love something, enjoy something, desire something, you want its presence. You want to touch it. So to live untouched, is to live unwanted.

The abundance of skin to skin contact triggers the release of a chemical called oxytocin into our bodies that makes us feel good. It makes us feel wanted. This is simply a bodily reaction. We are built to touch each other. We are built to hug and kiss and cuddle and fuck. That is human nature. Anything else is simply human tendency.

Kagome loved mornings like this one. It was the paragon of ways to get up on the right side of the bed. Their sheets were warm and knotted about them in a way that tied them together, and they could not escape without effort.

After so long, Kagome was convinced that Inuyasha and she were puzzle pieces. When spooned up next to each other, they fit together, leaving a seam so small, it was barely visible. No, they were better than puzzle pieces, those rigid bits of immobility that only seemed to lock one way. She and Inuyasha fit together no matter how they were. Even when they argued, they still fit together. At least, they always did afterwards.

She awoke first, which was a rare luxury with Inuyasha since he liked the sense of control he got from being the one to shake or stroke or nuzzle her awake. For that reason, Kagome loved to be the first up. Not that she did not like the ways Inuyasha had discovered to best rouse her; he could be quite creative when he wanted to be. Kagome enjoyed these mornings best because she never took them for granted. They were little jewels to her to be savored and remembered and donned whenever she felt ugly.

Inuyasha looked so pleasant when he was asleep. His frown was gone, replaced with a slightly parted, relaxed mouth, expressionless and as potentially smiling as it was potentially frowning. His forehead was smoothed of the worry lines he was developing, and the deep crease between his eyebrows was absent, taking the morning off. If Kagome was lucky, it might just take the whole day.

When Kagome thought of her mate, this was how she liked to picture him: soothed and preciously vulnerable. He was neither intimidating nor dominating. He was just hers without the needless protective layers that the psyche tends to drape over a person.

She made a quiet contented sound and gave into the urge to wrap her arms around him. She knew it would wake him, but she did not care. He was there, and so was she. That was all that mattered.

Shimmying her way closer with the intent of fitting herself against him, Kagome found the uncompromising sheets working with her. Just as she started to pull them together and tighten the sheets about them, Kagome was stopped.

_Oh my, _she thought, _there's something there. _

She found an obstacle in her path, poking into her thigh as though to make sure that he, too, was noticed in the cuddly exchange about to occur.

There had been time when Inuyasha's unprovoked erections had annoyed Kagome. She thought is was simply rude that he could not control himself. Was he such an animal that he could not have some semblance of power over his libido? No, silly Kagome. That did not make him an animal; that made him male. Waking up to that insistent jab in the back of her thigh or her hip or her butt just put her in a foul mood. It made her feel unappreciated and used. Even in his sleep he was thinking of doing her? Was that all he ever thought about? Of course not, but in Kagome's naivety, that was her interpretation.

Mornings had passed when she hadelbowed him to wake him up, complaining that he was poking her _again_. This did nothing to make Inuyasha comfortable with the notion of sharing a bed with someone, a practice he had never taken up before. He could not help it! On darker mornings, Kagome would grumble to herself about how inconsiderate he was being before grabbing and pulling his poor, unsuspecting erection. This did even less to make him comfortable.

It was not until one morning, the day before Kagome began her menstrual cycle, (a difficult day for both of them) Kagome had been so irritated by the morning nudge that she had turned around and flicked him _hard_. Inuyasha awoke with a yelp and declared that they were never sharing a bed again.

This resulted in an argument that eventually ended with a blush-ridden lesson for Kagome on the physiology of the erection. She came to understand that Inuyasha had about as much say on the Boner Committee as the guy they sent to get coffee or Chinese takeout when they had to make a late night decision. He was not even present for the vote on morning wood.

Kagome was proud of her enlightenment, and since that awkward morning, she had made an effort to be kinder to Inuyasha's abused penis.

Perhaps that was another reason why she enjoyed waking up before Inuyasha. It gave her a chance to remind him that vulnerability is not always a bad thing. While he slept peacefully, Kagome wove her hand through the sheets to find that roboreous prod that had once infuriated her so. Inuyasha stirred at her light touch, but did not wake. Boldly, she turned her hand and gently brushed the back of her knuckles against him. That got more of a reaction, and when Kagome began to trace a single, distended artery, she was certain Inuyasha was awake.

Two hands clasped her shoulders and dragged her closer, careful not to disengage her hand from its delightful business. Kagome turned her face and leaned her cheek against his chest. This was the perfect morning

"Kagome," Inuyasha rumbled distractedly.

Normally, she would have grinned and replied sheepishly, but there was something distinctly different about Inuyasha's voice this morning. Kagome furrowed her brow.

It was not Inuyasha's voice at all.

Her eyes shot open. Suddenly, she was not in hut painted in warm, yellow sunlight but a large room, dripping in the gray of a morning overcast and dark. She found herself staring at a throat that was not Inuyasha's. A black tail of hair hung over not Inuyasha's shoulder. The hands that held her had no claws. The voice that murmured her name was deep and gravely. Against her wrist she felt the coarse fur of an animal pelt.

"Kagome," Kouga said, his voice cracking a little. He shifted until they saw eye to eye. "You're not meaning to do that, are you?"

"Kouga!" Kagome cried, shoving away from him. She scooted all the way to the edge of the futon but did not dare go any further for fear of leaving the warmth of the blanket. "I'm so sorry!" she managed to stammer out. When further babbling did little to mitigate her utter humiliation, Kagome sat up and turned her back to him.

"No, it's okay, Kagome." _It was more than okay. _Kouga began to reach out to touch her shoulders, a gesture meant only to comfort her, but Kagome jerked away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, putting her face in her hands. Belatedly, she remembered what one of those hands had been doing moments before, but by then, she did not care.

Why? she wanted to scream. Why? Why! WHY?

The human psyche is cruel. It hold us accountable for acts that we wish to ignore; it clings to images we wish to purge. Though, with a strong will, a person can move those memories to larger capacity facilities, the thigh, for instance, there is no escaping those experiences designed to either break us in two or teach us vital, arduous lessons. However, those fresh hurts, those wounds that have not even begun to knit themselves closed again stare at us, and our psyches do not let us look away.

Kagome thought her psyche was laughing at her. It was throwing back its head and guffawing mercilessly at her expense.

Her mind was two toned and churning. It was walking a thin tightrope over a canyon of voracious stasis, balancing precariously in one hand utter embarrassment and in the other a souvenir from a journey that she wished she could forget. And on her back she carried a bag filled with regretful rocks and shameful stones until its seams nearly burst.

"I'm sorry," she heard Kouga say from behind her.

The pity made her want to slap him. As if it were not bad enough to mocked by one's own memories, the last thing Kagome needed was for the wolf to feel sorry for her. "It's not your fault," Kagome muttered, pushing her tears back into their compartment. She would deal with those later.

"Are... are you all right?" Kouga wanted very badly to offer her some kind of solace, but he knew better than to try.

"I feel like dying," said Kagome, her words muffled by her hands. She could feel her cheeks burning hot against her palms.

"I'm not offended, Kagome," Kouga endeavored without gumption.

"Of course you're not offended, Kouga!" exclaimed Kagome. When the wait of her grief had grown too large, too overwhelming for her to bear, she stumbled upon the next best alternative: anger. "Why would you be? That's what you were hoping I'd do all night, wasn't it?" She turned furious, tears filled eyes on him. Kouga recoiled slightly.

"Kagome, I never-"

"You've just been praying that I would turn over in the night and think you were Inuyasha! Maybe I'd mistake you... or maybe I was lonely and pathetic enough to go for second best! That's what you've just been itching for me to do!"

"Wait a minute, Kagome," interjected Kouga, gaining a little frustration of his own. "I gave you plenty of space. You're the one who-"

"Oh, I know!" Kagome threw up her hands. "I was the miserable one who scooted up to you. I know!" She paused and looked away, trying her hardest to force back her tears. They were insistent little bastards, though, and soon found their way to mosey themselves down her cheeks. "But it's your fault!" A single, shaking finger jabbed in Kouga's direction.

She was crumbling before him. He could watch her falling apart into brittle, jagged pieces, little chunks dropping off her as he had once imagined articles of clothing to do. Kouga may have been brash and coarse, but he knew he could not be angry with her when she was like that. "What's my fault?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Why do you have to look like him?" Kagome asked, her face red and wet and contorted. "You're arrogant and loud and stupid just like him! You're shaped like him! How could I..." A painful sob burst from her mouth before she could stop it. "How could I not? How could I..." Who was she asking, Kouga wondered. "How could you do this to me, Kouga?"

She hunched forward and let out a keening sob into her hands. "How could you?"

Inside his broad chest, Kouga's heart twisted painfully. The woman he loved - yes, he truly loved her - was dissolving before his eyes, and all he could do was sit back and watch impotently; he had never felt so worthless in his life.

_Maybe I was lonely and pathetic enough to go for second best!_ Her words still hung in his ears like a knife in his back, and all of his arrogance told him to be angry with her, to rage indignantly and roar at the little human who had dealt such a blow to his pride. However, at the same time, his love, his painfully unrequited, unnoticed affection that had been left on the door step to wait in the rain, reminded him that if first best is gone, then second best gains a little status. And as the new first best, it was his responsibility to clean up after his predecessor.

And for the first time, Kouga felt a flicker of anger at Inuyasha for abandoning her. _How could _he

Resolving to risk being hit or worse, being shunned, Kouga moved closer to her. When she did not bat him away, Kouga put an arm around her.

"I'm sorry, Kagome," he said quietly. It seemed like that was all he could say. His slick way with words had abandoned him, and all he was left with was his own wits. What could he possibly do with those?

"Kouga," Kagome moaned before gradually turning into him. "How could you?"

He swallowed. "Do you want me to go?" His voice sounded foreign to him as though someone more compassionate and sensible was speaking through him. Perhaps his voice had retreated, refusing to ask the question in fear of her answer.

"No!" Kagome cried quickly, throwing both of her arms around his waist as though to anchor him there. She pressed her face into his shoulder and continued to weep pitifully. "Don't leave."

"Okay," he replied evenly, smoothing her hair down her back.

"It's not my fault," Kagome uttered against his skin.

"I know."

"It's not my fault."

"I know."

As she continued to chant, Kouga realize that he was not the one she was reassuring. "It's not your fault," he said, tightening his arms around her.

"Oh, Kouga," she breathed deeply. "It is my fault."

He frowned. Clearly this was not working. Without preamble, he tugged her around to face him and caught her chin, forcibly turning her eyes toward him. For a moment, he held her swollen, red gaze. "You're confused, and you're upset, Kagome. It is _not_ your fault."

"What's not my fault?" she asked, her lips trembling. "Maybe I'll believe it if I hear it."

Kouga let out a gently exasperated laugh. "None of it. You're the only one who blames you for Inuyasha, and I'm certainly not pissed at you. Hell, I've never had a better wake up call in my life."

Kagome's already red face darkened a shade. "I was dreaming," she murmured, pulling her eyes away from his.

"I figured."

"I'm ashamed of myself," she admitted quietly to Kouga's knee.

"Don't be," he replied, blotting away a descending tear with the knuckle of his index finger. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Kagome smiled weakly. "I can see why you'd think that."

His bravado restored, Kouga grinned. "Anyone on the receiving end of _that_ mistake would tell you that you were actually very, very right."

"I bet," she muttered before wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffing loudly. "Sorry, Kouga. I cried all over you." She gestured to his wet shoulder.

Kouga looked down and shrugged. "I'll dry," he replied as he rubbed away her tears. "I've suffered much-"

Suddenly, the door to the main room slid open with a clatter and what sounded rather like a crack of splitting wood. Both Kouga and Kagome jumped in shock and looked up. Two sets of very loud footsteps followed the crash.

"What was that?" Kagome asked, watching her bedroom door.

"I don't know," replied the wolf. In an instant, his tender exterior transformed into that of a predator. His muscles coiled and his pupils dilated, readying him to lunge at whomever was creating the raucous beyond the door.

The shoji screen between the main room and Kagome's bedroom was opened abruptly, and two large, armored males entered. They wasted no time with pleasantries as they moved toward Kouga. The wolf leapt up from the futon and seized Kagome by the arm. Growling menacingly, Kouga dragged the female back with him.

"Wait, Kouga," Kagome said, putting a placating hand on his arm. "These are Sesshomaru's guards. They're wearing the uniform. See?" She gestured to the large, circular devices on their shoulders.

"What do you want?" Kouga snarled, tugging Kagome closer.

"Lord Sesshomaru has sent us to escort you out," said one of the guards as he rested his right hand on the long sword in his obi.

"What the hell? Why? I haven't done anything to him!"

The guards declined to answer, and instead moved ever closer.

"Maybe it's for pushing around his servants," Kagome offered, her hands still gripped his arm in an ever tightening grasp.

"I always push around his servants. He does it, too!"

The guards were upon his quickly, grappling him by the arms and jerking him away from Kagome. Kouga would have darted out of the way to avoid them, but as he stepped backwards, he bumped into the female that had haunted his dreams for years and faltered, giving the guards enough time to overcome him.

"No, Kouga!" Kagome cried, chasing after the guards and struggling wolf. She ran ahead and turned, facing them and awkwardly jogging backwards. "Kouga, what's going on?" she asked, paying little attention to the snow that crunched beneath her bare feet.

"I don't know," Kouga said, jerking at his captors.

"Out of the way wench," one of the guards bellowed, lifting a large hand and swatting her to the right. Kagome let out a yelp as she was flung into the snow. The ice, clearly offended by her artless attack, bit back hard. Before she could recover, the guards had passed her and continued their way through the garden toward the front gate.

"Kagome!" Kouga exclaimed, craning his neck to see her as he was pulled ahead. He began to fight them with more force, but both guards were much larger than he. His endeavors were futile.

She leapt to her feet and ran a few steps. "Kouga!" she yelled into the wind. She took to running again as the wolf was dragged around a corner, but she misstepped and fell into the snow with a painful thud and a loud pop of her ankle.

"No! Kouga!" Kagome pushed herself to stand once more, limping as sharp pains shot up her right shin.

But he was gone. The softly falling snow had swallowed up any traces of the guards and Kouga by the time she hobbled around the corner. Icy flakes blustered around her, stinging her cheeks and hands and exposed heart, falling like curtains on the final act of a tragedy that critics had reviewed as leaving the audience more hollow than they had been upon entering the theater.

"No!" Kagome cried, pounding a fist against a nearby wall. "No, no, no!"

All her indignation, all the anger that had been building up with each snide glance and spiteful act suddenly burst into flame. It roared so loudly that Kagome did not notice how cold she was or how hard her ankle throbbed. She spun around in the snow and stormed back toward her rooms. As she neared her door, she paused, a familiar sensation tugging at the hem of her notion.

"Sesshomaru!" Kagome shouted before pivoting on her bad heel and glaring up at the specter of a male standing on his balcony high above everything else. His voluminous white sleeves swelled and collapsed with the sheet of silvery hair behind him while his unreadable face remained unearthly still.

The Demon Lord, present for the entire ordeal, watched the female below him as she plodded through the snow, shaking her fist at him. She had her red face turned up to him, keening his name wrathfully. She looked terribly small so far below him, and her weak voice was barely discernible over the wind.

Tightening his lips, Sesshomaru decided that he did not and would not feel guilty where the girl was concerned. Responsibility or not, she was merely human. She was no more than an insect in his stores, a cockroach feeding off the scraps of whatever he felt like giving her. She was scurrying around, a pest that could be easily crushed under the heel of his boot. It could be so simple to abandon her in his own palace. He could leave her to her own devices and wait out the remainder of her meager life. He could kill her in the night. There were so many options, he knew, and yet something in him, an emotion born of honor and apathy, held him at bay. And that made him rage all the more. Why could he not remove it? Why could he not lock it away somewhere and forget its presence. Why could he not stop thinking about, not the girl, but the responsibility that he ignored willfully?

It drove him to distraction.

"Shut it up," Sokkenai said from the doorway behind Sesshomaru. He did not grant her a glance. "It's still early, Sesshomaru. Come back to bed." She reached out and tugged on his empty sleeve in a way that she knew irritated him. His loose sleeve, after all, was a potent reminder of what supposed to be filling it.

"Go inside, Sokkenai," replied Sesshomaru, still observing the human girl beneath him. She continued to yell.

"Do you really enjoy watching it that much, Sesshomaru? Certainly I can find something more entertaining." Sokkenai sauntered up behind the Demon Lord and curled her long claws in the back of his haori. She leaned forward and blew in his ear.

_Heel, boy, _Sokkenai gloated to herself.

Sesshomaru swung his right arm backwards, dislodging the female from him and pushing her against the wall behind them.

"I said, go inside!" he barked, glaring at her.

"What?" Sokkenai asked, aghast. "What has you so sore, Sesshomaru-sama?" She pushed herself away from the wall and studied him. His back was to her now, and the thought of his eyes trained on the despicable vermin in the garden made her nostrils pale from the strain. "Don't tell me you feel bad for it!" she gibed skeptically. His shoulders tensed.

"Inside, Sokkenai," Sesshomaru growled, his voice dropping in pitch.

The female watched him for a moment with her abrasive eyes. A malicious grin crept across her face before she threw her head back and laughed a cruel, bitter laugh. "Oh, poor Sesshomaru-sama! You've upset your pet human. What will you do now? I suggest you feed it a treat and rub its belly before it runs away."

"Female," he ground out, turning to her slowly. Her smirk did not falter, and her flagrant lack of fear tossed a spark onto the powder cake of Sesshomaru's repressed temper. A long, low growl rumbled up from his chest. Sokkenai merely lowered her lids and peeked up at him through her lashes as she pushed herself up against the wall.

He felt the taut tether on his raw, blistered, prideful anger snap from the stress. Sesshomaru found his claws, all five of them, buried in the wood of the wall by Sokkenai's head, his hematic eyes held directly before hers.

She licked her lips. "You look good enough to eat." She lifted a slender, clawed hand to trace the stripes on his cheek. "You're so easily provoked, so quick to anger."

"Tread lightly, female," he snarled, shoving his right knee between her legs and pushing her up slightly.

She chuckled. "Hmm, so sensitive, too, my lord. I fear you may wound too easily for my tastes." Her gaze remained adhered to his, simply begging him to strike her. She watched as he bore his fangs.

"Sesshomaru!" Kagome's cry was suddenly clear in a lull in the wind. "You heartless, soulless... faceless pig! Get back here!"

Sokkenai began to laugh once more. "It sounds quite angry, Sesshomaru-sama."

The Demon Lord freed his knee from her thighs and shoved Sokkenai back with great force against the wall. He reeled back on the clumsy, ugly human flailing around repellently in his garden. How the hell did that get there, he wanted to ask. It scampered around, clawing at the air with its clawless hands. It sickened him so see a creature so foul and so low in his own home. It roiled in his stomach until he tasted oysters. The human made him want to vomit. And what of the fool who had left the back door open all night so any abject thing could crawl inside? He made himself want to vomit.

"Sesshomaru!" it screamed once more.

Putting a clawed hand to the railing, Sesshomaru vaulted over the parapet, uncaring of the harsh judgment Sokkenai would pass on his crude behavior later. He could still hear her laughing at him from the doorway to his bedroom. How he would have loved to stop her laughing, to shut her salacious, derisory mouth with a swift swish of his claws, but that would have to wait for another day when more of his honor had left him, lost like precious wisps of smoke.

His feet sank into the snow with a rewarding crunch. The human took a wavering step back from him.

"How dare you, Sesshomaru! Why did you send him away?" she cried, her fists balled at her sides.

A low growl escaped his chest as Sesshomaru rose to his full height, savoring the flickering fear that passed over the human's face.

"Did you grow so attached to the wolf? Less than a fortnight after the death of your mate?" Sesshomaru asked, his voice taunting and pompous.

He could have pushed a spoon through her trachea and caused less pain. "I would grow attached to a house plant in this hell!" Kagome shouted. "You have nothing here, Sesshomaru! You have your oversized palace with your oversized guards! It's all compensation for what you _don't_ have!"

Kagome had meant his heart. Sesshomaru interpreted it otherwise.

The taiyoukai, terrifyingly white and standing stark even against the snow, lunged at the repulsive human. It squeaked and floundered backwards. With a wild wheeling of arms, it fell down awkwardly, giving Sesshomaru a target so easy to pin it was almost embarrassing.

He stooped quickly and scooped her up to her feet where he held her steady with a fist around her throat.

"I have everything," he snarled in her face.

Kagome watched his expression in terror. Never before had she seen Sesshomaru so furious. His hackles were raised, exposing two rows of sharp, ivory teeth. His eyes were narrowed slightly and edged in red from the blood that leaked into them when youkai rage surmounted sagacity. His stripes, typically rosy and smooth, were now vermillion and asperous, extending further across the hard ridge of his cheekbones. His straight, narrow nose was wrinkled from his snarl. For the first time, Kagome could recognize the dog in him.

"No you don't," Kagome choked, pulling at his large claw around her neck.

"I have more than you, human." He pulled her closer until their faces were merely inches apart, their condensing breaths mingling and intertwining into one single, hot cloud that curled about them.

She gagged out, "I have a soul."

He squeezed harder around her neck. "And it has brought you nothing but pain."

Kagome winced, more from his accuracy than the pressure, and clawed harder at the back of his hand. "Let me go," she choked. "Sesshomaru, I can't breath."

"That was my intention," he growled, watching her contorting face with something between appreciation and disgust.

"Sessho... maru..." Kagome wheezed. "This is... going to hurt."

She had wanted to avoid this tactic. She knew how much pain it would cause him; at least she knew how much pain it had caused Inuyasha. As much as Kagome wanted to be grateful to her brother-in-law, she would not let him kill her. Not like this.

Closing her eyes, Kagome looked deep within for that wind. She reached into her heart and brought out that sweet smelling, warm power. It bubbled like a spring from the hidden jewel in her chest before casting out long, phosphorescent tendrils into her flesh. Racing through her veins, squeezing into her capillaries, Kagome suddenly felt feverish, uncomfortably hot. The snow around her feet recoiled from her sudden increase in temperature. Even Sesshomaru drew back slightly, sensing something odd stirring in the female.

In the world outside her closed eyes, Kagome heard Sesshomaru hiss in pain and drop her suddenly. She fell heavily to the snow and gasped in a much-needed breath. Sensing that he had stepped back, Kagome slowly opened her eyes.

She found herself in a translucent, blue sphere that shifted in hue and crackled quietly with sparking, searing holy energy. Through the barrier, she could see Sesshomaru scowling down at her. He stood motionless, appearing to be waiting for something. Kagome could only assume he was fending off his rage at her use of her miko powers against him. His typically smooth pulchritude was still marred by the roaring youkai within, and her sudden strength to resist did little to mitigate it.

Had Sesshomaru been less attached to the only arm he possessed, he would have bore the pain and reached through the barrier for her. He would have ripped her head from her neck, female or not. She was not his mate, and he had about as much attachment to her as her head would have to her shoulders if he could only reach her.

He bound his anger back, pushed his temper into the cage where he could hold a perpetual vigil over it. As much as he wanted to stain his snowy garden red with her thin blood, he knew it would not be wise. Sesshomaru forced himself to heed the voice that told him that his behavior and his urges were inappropriate and disgraceful.

Theblotch of color in the human's sizzling barrier that had blocked her face from view shifted and faded, revealing her trembling, moist visage below.

"Stop crying," Sesshomaru demanded. "Get up."

"No!" Kagome snapped. What, she wondered, was so appealing about sitting pathetically in the snow? Nothing, other than by remaining there, she was brazenly disobeying Sesshomaru. That was quite appealing, actually.

"Were you so affixed to the wolf?" he asked, looking down his nose at her.

Her face contorted more, yet her voice came out strong and convicted. "No," she replied. "But you didn't even let me say goodbye."

She was lying, he could smell that much. She was also spouting the most frivolous crap anyone had had the audacity to utter in his presence in ages. So, not only was she a waste of space, a void to devour his time, energy, and guest quarters, she was inanely sentimental as well. Sesshomaru should have expected as much from a female who would mate his brother.

He scoffed and reached for his sword, Tokijin, at his hip, only to find cold air in the place where its hilt should have been. Silently, Sesshomaru cursed his informality of dress when in his own home. How simple it would have been to draw his demonic sword and cleave cleanly through her flimsy barrier. How enjoyable it would have been to accidentally swing too hard and cleave through the human at the same time.

"Be ready, female," said Sesshomaru lowly, glowering down at her.

"Ready for what?" Kagome asked once she figured out what he had said to her; however, by that time, he was already retreating back to the main hall, leaving her alone inside her barrier. She began to shiver from the cold.

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A/N: Well, there you have it. Sesshomaru and Kagome have actually interacted. Hurray! They'll be rutting like rabbits any minute now. What's that smell? Is it... dare I say... love! Actually, no, that's last week's vegetarian burrito that I left on my kitchen counter; somehow, I think love between Kagome and Sesshomaru would smell a bit like rotting avocado, though.

**Ego-Fuel: We Make You Feel Less Worthless!**


	5. Atrophy

A/N: So, it belatedly occurred to me that it might have behooved me to put some kind of warning on the previous chapter. The latter half could, in the eyes of some, be deemed offensive and risqué. So, I'm going to warn you now…

WARNING: The previous chapter contains sexual situations and crude usage. If you are offended by mentions of ERECTIONS, BONERS, BONER COMMITTEES, MORNING WOOD, DISTENDED VEINS on ERECTIONS, ROBOREOUS PRODS, PENISES, or CUDDLY EXCHANGES in which PENISES are RECOGNIZED, shield thine eyes! Thank you.  
-Camudekyu

I certainly hope you all feel safe and de-scandalized now. I know I sure do.  
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"Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."  
-Isaac Asimov

On this morning, cued by a bulbous sun rising into a clear sky, painting the pallet purple and crimson, the ice began to melt. In trickles, the frigid stuff laid down in the battlefield where it had waged a vicious war against the mounting temperature, waving a white flag that the sunlight promptly devoured and urinated out. The morning symphony, no longer the wailing bassoon of the wind, was now the gentle percussion of water dripping and icicles shattering as they lost purchase on the awnings and plummeted to the ground. But icicles had known their fate when they were first drafted; they knew long before signing on that they were kamikaze fighters and that their most glorious moment would be standing, or hanging, tall against the climbing sun for one beautiful instant, giving the orange orb and obscene gesture, and then acquiescing with as much honor as they could muster while growing damp with fear.

The snow had put up a damn good fight, had conquered the land with it all-encompassing regime where squirrels hid in attics and wrote in diaries, leaves preferred to shrivel up and die instead of endure, and any liquids were stopped and asked to produce their papers. The birds had flown south, seeking freedom from the reigning regent and Her torturous tendencies, but they waited every day for word from their underground connections of the coup d'etat, of a time when it would be safe to return home. And for a terrifying span of days, it seemed as though it would never be.

However, Creation had a secret weapon hidden in the entrenchment of the horizon, waiting for the right moment to jump out and win his territory back from the oppressor. And on this morning, Earth, fettered and starved in the dungeon below the ice, cried out in indignation and desperation, and Her lover heard Her. Like any good partner, Sun came to Her rescue, and with one strong, hot sweep of His hand, freed His mate from the shackles of Winter.

And the promise of Spring was upon them, fluttering just out a reach and surveying the area for a place to land. The battle was won, the adversary defeated, and Earth let out a long sigh of relief. Now, trudging the uphill climb of liberation and reconstruction, She wept with joy.

Sesshomaru could hear Her, laughing and sobbing, and his bitterness roused him with a rough swat to the pride.

Already, patches of ground were showing through, stones poked their gray heads up to see if the coast was indeed clear, trees began to shake off their disguises to reveal the strong bodies they had hidden in fear of being considered a threat. All the while, warm light streamed down without shame or hesitation.

What a happy time this should have been. Spring was typically considered a season of celebration for those who had actually survived the winter. Their jubilation was not without weight, though, for along with festivities for the living, there was mourning for the dead. Like the Earth, they laughed and they cried. But, Earth would be the first to tell you that no experience is worth having if one cannot both laugh and cry upon its conclusion.

The Demon Lord, poised at his window, watching Earth and Sun cuddling together in his garden, was one again reminded of how much he detested the spring. Perhaps it was from decades spent sitting separate, observing the merriment and the sorrow of others in which he could not participate. There was no place in Sesshomaru left for giggles and tears. It had long ago been filled with parchment, blood, and expensive silks.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had been born in the spring that embittered him; the infant foliage was quick to remind him that he was one year older.

He would be three hundred and seventy-eight this spring.

Three hundred and seventy-eight winters endured. Three hundred and seventy-eight springs ignored. Three hundred and seventy-eight summers tolerated. Three hundred and seventy-eight autumns wasted. Wasted. Wasted. _Wasted_. Three limbs left. Two human females too many. One furious pseudo-mate probably plotting his castration in the night. And nothing to show for surviving his three hundred and seventy-eighth year.

He could feel himself atrophying.

Earth was still joyous. She looked like She was going to start singing. Sesshomaru let out a warning growas though something as significant as Earth would heed a threat from something as insignificant as he. He hated spring.

Sesshomaru found himself in the great hall, not bothering to toss glances at the servants who clumsily dropped their work and bowed deferentially to him. His steps were soft and quick, sounding as though he was in too great a hurry to actually touch the ground, and he chose to, instead, hover frictionless and merely skim the tatami when necessary.

Sesshomaru found himself in the garden, his feet sinking silently in the weakening snow and splashing puddles angrily out of their way. His right hand, his only hand, rested on the hilt of Tokijin, savoring the feel of his greatest tool, his prized negotiating tactic, and his undefeated strategy. In this world of Springs and humans, Tokijin was like a doorway, a picture frame containing a glimpse into what made him _great. _

Sesshomaru found himself on a covered veranda, staring at a reinforced sliding door, closed to keep the waning winter out and the hesitant heat in. And angry Demon Lord would have slashed through the door, shattering it to splinters just because he could. And annoyed Demon Lord would have thrown the door open loudly, announcing himself in hopes of inspiring fear in his prey. But what of a resentful Demon Lord? A Demon Lord who had endured more than he ever believed he would deign to? A Demon Lord who, upon a quick review of all of his sufferings, had found what he believed to be a deep root in the orchid of his shortcomings? This Demon Lord would have slipped in silently, the hushed hiss of his sword being drawn from its sheath the only sound. After all, the key to the perfect hunt, the secret of the swift kill was the element of surprise.

Sesshomaru gripped the handle of the door and slid it open soundlessly and quickly enter, aware of the cold air and the rousing effect it might have on his target.

Sesshomaru found himself standing in a bedroom, diffused sunlight from a shuttered window at his back casting his blurry shadow over the futon at his feet. Down the narrow, disdainful avenue of his nose, Sesshomaru's gaze traveled. It cut a straight path through the chilly, still air and found purchase on the slack face of his sister-in-law.

Phantom sensations shot down phantom nerves, causing a phantom left arm to ache with phantom pain. He scowled at the stirrings of his doppelganger limb.

Never before had anyone had the audacity to insult him so. She publicly disgraced him with her presence. Every thump of her fragile heart was another affront. Every twitch of her parted lips was a slur. Every step, every word, every thought was a direct offense against him.

Tokijin purred in approval as he pulled it free from its sheath. He could feel it pulsing with pleasure, excited to taste flesh once more. Sesshomaru tightened his grip as though to say, "Patience, my pet."

The human stirred, her shoulder tucking up closer to her cheek before falling limp once more. Her little hands tightened on the cover pulled to her chin as she murmured something unintelligible.

And Sesshomaru found himself hesitating.

His single hand, the companion he treasured more than he would ever admit, was defying him. Around Tokijin, it clenched until his already pale knuckles turned white. It heard the Demon Lord's commands, but would not heed them.

Sesshomaru would have growled but refrained, reluctant to endure the shrill screams of the female should she wake. He glared down at his right hand, trembling from the force of its grip. Under that stare, even his most contrary servants, who were few and rather short-lived, would have crumbled and obeyed. But not his hand, his confidant, his trusted advisor.

By definition, it is an advisor's responsibility to give advice. Those lucky enough to earn the esteemed rank must be wise and shrewd, perceptive and discriminating, respectful yet assertive. They must know when to offer counsel and when to step down, and at that moment, Sesshomaru's hand thought it was appropriate to voice his opinion.

It was dishonorable to kill anything in its sleep, it said. Even the lowest, foulest creatures deserve the opportunity to defend themselves or at least escape; however, the prostrate human at his feet could do neither whether she was awake or not, so would it be safe to assume that it did not make a difference is she were asleep?

Oh, but it did. At least, to Sesshomaru's hand and now his sense of dignity it did.

He scowled at the human for being too helpless to be killed as he shoved Tokijin back into its home. He could hear the sword whining in protest, so he gave the hilt an assuring squeeze. It would get it long drinks of blood. But it would have to be patient.

Sesshomaru turned and exited the building, feeling pleased with himself for conserving his dignity while also fuming at his infuriating pride for being so damn honorable.

But no matter, Sesshomaru thought. He could wait. Once she was awake, he would kill her.

Tokijin giggled.  
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Kagome awoke to something tickling her nose. Thinking it an insect, Kagome swatted her face with the grace of someone one part present and three parts elsewhere. When the tickle persisted, she passed her palm over he face while sucking through her nose her morning mucus.

This sensation, it seemed, was rather persistent.

Kagome finally huffed dramatically and sat up, smacking her innocent nose with such bleary aim that her cheeks and forehead received a bit of the attack as well. It was only after the barrage on her countenance that Kagome discovered the culprit to be a strand of hair. Pinching it between her fingers, she pulled it away from her face. As she was about to toss it away, her encrusted eyes noticed something odd about the intrusive little hair.

"What?" Kagome asked out loud as she scrubbed her eyes with her free hand. Confined in the press between her thumb and forefinger was a very long, very white hair.

This was certainly not hers. Not was it Kouga's. It could not have been Rin's either. For a moment, Kagome's stubborn imagination entertained the thought of a ghost, more tangible than the run of the mill specter, hovering over her, watching her in her sleep, perhaps caressing her cheek while she slept and accidentally dropped a long, silky strand from its beloved scalp.

Kagome frowned and shook her head slightly. That was a stupid thought, and she resolved to push it aside.

She watched the hair for a long moment as though waiting for it notice her and offer a stammering plea for pardon before scurrying off to breakfast.

Had it not been for her state of slow waking, the mystery of the hair would have been solved much faster; however, since of the wrinkles of deduction in Kagome's brain were still slapping the snooze button on her Circadian Rhythm, she required a full minute to realize what this slender, silvery trespasser meant.

Kagome sat up very straight and drew in a quiet breath as realization struck her: Sesshomaru had been in her room while she was asleep. The hair had not been there the night before; had it somehow found its way to her person during her altercation with the Demon Lord, it could not have lingered through her bath and change of clothes before she had retired.

But why… why would Sesshomaru be in her bedroom, close enough to shed on her face, while she slept?

This was… terribly unsettling.

A quiet rustle of silk from behind her made Kagome jump and gasp in surprise. She flung herself around, still gripping the hair, to see a petite female, donned in the uniform of all of Sesshomaru's servants. The female youkai, russet haired and violet eyed, knelt by the door with a folded kimono before her knees. Her face was young and unadorned, bearing the deliberate void that seemed to frequent the faces in the Palace of the West.

"Good morning, my lady," the youkai said with a respect that clearly was only skin deep.

"Good morning," Kagome replied, too shocked to really think of anything else to say. "Uh…" Despite the mountains of irk Kagome had piled up, just itching to be vomited all over the next disrespectful bystander, Kagome was not fond of being rude. She feared, however, that there was no polite way of wording this. "What are you doing in here?"

"Lord Sesshomaru asked that I dress you this morning, my lady." She bowed her head slightly.

"What does he want?" Screw being polite. Kagome was too apprehensive to care.

"He did not deign to explain his reasons to a lowly servant, my lady," replied the female. "He is awaiting your arrival, my lady. I must ask that we begin."

It might have been more satisfying to cross her arms over her chest, stick out her lower lip, and refuse to humor Sesshomaru, but Kagome's fuzzy mind agreed before her sleek ego could initiate a reaction.

Kagome and the servant rose to their feet in time, and the youkai began her assignment. From beneath the folded kimono, she removed a cream colored nagajugan and carefully unfolded it. Removing her sleeping kimono, Kagome could not help but notice the servant's furtive eyeing of her green, cotton underwear. That was one part of the modern era that Kagome would simple not forsake. She had given up bras when she had found that her mate had been more prone to ripping them apart than patiently unhooking them, but not the panties. Oh no, the panties were not going anywhere.

With the servant's careful and rather unnecessary aid, Kagome donned her layers, all bound together with a simple, narrow obi. Kagome felt rather formal in what had originally appeared to be a simple kimono but was now clearly a furisode.

"Why am I dressed like this?" Kagome asked, looking herself over. She had to admit, it was a beautiful furisode: an earthy green embellished with embroidered maple leaves in coppery threat, sleeves that hung nearly to the floor, heavy, high quality silk. She had never worn anything so fine.

"Lord Sesshomaru wished it so," was the servant's reply.

Kagome huffed. She should have been used to the carefully vague answers she got from any of the help around the palace. "All right," she replied a little tightly.

"He is waiting, my lady," the servant prompted. Kagome expected the other female to turn and guide her out of the room, but the youkai merely stood with her hands clasped before her, watching the human.

"Uh…" Kagome began. "Where is he waiting?" She felt foolish under the gaze of a youkai servant who seemed to be insinuating that Kagome had missed a rather conspicuously posted memo.

The servant feigned a smile that was thin enough for Kagome to see through. "In the garden, my lady," she replied, gesturing toward the door.

"Oh, I though he would be in his study or library… or something." Kagome's response faded when the servant just continued to smile that artificial smile. "Okay," Kagome added, feeling her senses tickled by the youkai's presence in a way that toeing the precipice of a canyon might. Those lilac eyes, as hidden in shadow as the craggy bottom of the chasm, remained still, unblinking and unwavering. She looked as though she knew something that Kagome did not, that Kagome would definitely want to know.

Unable to endure the strange stare any longer, Kagome lifted the trailing hem of her furisode and brushed past the servant without a word.

The air on the veranda felt much lighter, much less dense, and Kagome drew in a long, appreciative breath. However, her relief was short-lived. Her eyes fell on the main source of her apprehension, sitting atop a tall decorative stone with his legs crossed and folded and his eyes closed. The Demon Lord appeared to be meditating.

He looked strangely serene, perched motionless amidst the waking garden. The breeze touched him only gently, clearly just as anxious as Kagome was about contacting him. His face, a medley of cold planes and hard edges that Creation had not bothered to sand down, was blank and slack. He was a scroll, smooth and white, waiting for a brush to pass, to paint an expression across its vacant expanse.

Kagome was reminded of his snarl, his fangs revealed and creaseless visage marred with the wrinkles of rage. She shivered, for as grateful as she was that he was not wearing that face now, his void expression held a great deal of potential. And it was certainly more likely that the first strokes across his page would be bellicose than friendly.

Feeling awkward in her finery, Kagome stepped into the pair of shoes provided and off her veranda. She trudged through the gathering slush, resigning her poor hem to the mud. With her hands completely inaccessible in her long sleeves, she had no choice. She would have winced had her face not been paralyzed with anticipation.

Sesshomaru remained still. Kagome knew he could smell her drawing closer. She was making enough noise, squishing inelegantly, for him to notice her. With every step, Kagome cringed inwardly. She hated being so artlessly human.

But there is nothing I can do about that, Kagome told herself without conviction. Somehow, that simply made it sting worse.

The Demon Lord looked like some kind of idol, a statue erected to the god of heartlessness, a monument for the goddess of cold. Only the gentle swelling and sagging of his sleeves and hair betrayed his existence as something animate.

"Sesshomaru," Kagome endeavored, pleased to hear that her tongue was on her side and rooting for her by not tripping over itself in the most human of ways.

He opened his eyes slowly, revealing the Spanish galleons beneath his lids. He was silent and watched her for a moment that grew longer and longer until Kagome could feel it tying itself into a noose and hovering before her.

"Did you want something?" continued Kagome. If he did not do or say something soon, Kagome feared she would grow so tiny that she would disappear into the crunchy mud and drown.

His stare, unmoving and content to stay that way, was peeling her away. Kagome could feel layers falling off of her, revealing something tender and vulnerable underneath. She was naked in a field, and he was there with her. He had been a distance away only a moment ago, but not he was standing a breath away from her, holding her down with his eyes. He was leaning forward. He was speaking huskily into her ear. He was murmuring, _"Your soul is showing."_

In a flash of movement that defied light so sharply that she blurred with flustered indignation, Sesshomaru whipped Tokijin from its sheath. The sword sang with glee as it cut through the air on its way to the target: human throat.

Kagome stepped back onto the hem of her furisode and fell with a wet squish. Luckily for her, the Shikon Jewel that had taken up residence in her person had sharper survival instincts that she and triggered a barrier around Kagome before the sword could come close enough to do any damage. Reflexively, Kagome threw her arms before her face and recoiled.

A loud clanging sound reverberated through her ears so intensely that Kagome winced. When the nigh-inevitable pierce of steel did not arrive, she opened her eyes. The clanging sounded again and again, making Kagome recoil further and further. Through her narrowed eyes, she could see Sesshomaru, no longer blank but now glaring piercingly, hacking at her barrier mercilessly with a glowing sword.

After a quick recovery, Kagome lurched to her feet and took another few stumbling steps back. Again, she treaded on her hem and plopped to the ground. Sneering at her falter, Sesshomaru seized the opportunity and charged her, swinging Tokijin with practiced, and yet futile, grace. With each attack, his glower grew darker and darker.

"Sesshomaru!" Kagome cried, still shying away from his raging assault. "Stop! What are you trying to do?"

Sesshomaru thought that was rather obvious. "You were warned, human," he replied, staying his sword to speak.

"What?" asked Kagome; the adrenaline churning through every inch of her successfully turned her logic into tapioca pudding.

"Remove your barrier and die with as much dignity as you can, human," Sesshomaru commanded. He squeezed Tokijin, preparing his companion in blood for the bounty of his patience.

Careful to hold the abundant bottom of her furisode up, Kagome clamored to her feet again. "What have I done to you?" She took three trembling steps back. Sesshomaru took three imposing steps forward.

"Your existence is trespass enough," was his reply before he raised Tokijin again and took another chop at her. The barrier held.

Through the heavy curtains of fear and confusion, a rather useless notion occurred to Kagome. It could so nothing to save her or even level the playing field, but it was something solid to which Kagome could grasp, so grasp she did. "That's why you had me put in this ridiculous kimono! I can't move!"

"How astute." Even in his lack of cadence, his irony was transparent. "Be grateful that you will die in finery."

"And you make cracks on _my_ dignity?" Kagome exclaimed. She was abruptly shoved back by the impact of Tokijin glancing off her barrier. Her heel caught her hem once more, but having practiced falling down enough, Kagome was able to catch herself before she fell.

"Silence human," snarled Sesshomaru as he leaned into Tokijin and pressed against Kagome's barrier. He cursed is single-limbed condition when he found himself poorly balanced even after all the years of reteaching himself the combat skills he had once mastered so well. He could not achieve the force he desired.

Red lined his eyes, and the urge to sacrifice his control for his full strength danced on the outskirts of his consciousness, beckoning him to the edge of his sagacity. Tightening his grip on Tokijin, Sesshomaru bit down the thought and willed his transformation down, down, down, away from the surface and back into its kennel cage.

"You are in no place to comment on dignity," said the Demon Lord before he withdrew his sword and took a single, broad step back. He stood strong, careful to keep his stance wide and sturdy should the human choose to foolishly attack.

"Neither are you!" exclaimed Kagome, pushing herself against the tree. Desperately, she willed her buzzing mind to focus. _Plot_, she commanded herself. _Plot, or this'll be it. _Sesshomaru was a walking mine field, and he did not seem open to revealing the path out.

With an internal kick that jumpstarted her survival instincts, Kagome saw an option. Darting to the right was her only possibility. Sesshomaru could not attack her right as quickly as he could her left; it was his only opening. It was not much, but evasive maneuvers are never implemented without a touch of desperation.

Seizing the opportunity to dash away, Kagome unconsciously dropped her barrier to slip by him. But Sesshomaru slipped faster. Even with his handicap, the youkai's attack was far faster than Kagome could have ever hoped to escape. Before she could get around him, Kagome looked up to see the blade, long and glinting in the newborn sun, descending on her.

What then occurred, neither Kagome nor Sesshomaru could have predicted.

Frozen in fear, Kagome watched the glistening blade slicing through the air toward her. Human instincts, it would seem, are only partially useful and even less practical in perpetuating the life of a human. Instinct told Kagome to throw up her hands to block the sword. Instincts convinced her that she could hold him at back with her bare hands. Instincts tricked Kagome into believing that she could somehow stop Tokijin. Luckily, the Shikon Jewel made it true.

Her sleeves slipped down to her elbows, revealing her shaking flesh.

Kagome's hands burst into a fiery blue light just as Tokijin slammed into her open palms, slipping into the fleshy cradle between the pad below her thumb and the rest of her palm. Her entire body was compressed by the impact, her elbows flexing, her knees bending, and her back curling, but her ignited hands held strong. She pushed against the sword and held the Demon Lord back.

Sesshomaru's eyes widened marginally when he found himself in a standoff with a twig of a human. His sword should have been slicing effortlessly through her forearms, cleaving her trunk in half. She should have been crumbling into severed flesh and bone, flopping into a muddy puddle of her own blood. But, it would appear that she was not.

She was holding Tokijin over her head. She was pushing against him. How dare she defend herself?

The human let out a whimper and squeezed her eyes shut as Sesshomaru pushed harder against her. Her joints were beginning to collapse under the force, and Sesshomaru felt the tingle of anticipation for them to finally fail. She bean to shake, slowly at first, but her trembling gradually grew so violent that Sesshomaru could feel the quivering of Tokijin in his fist.

"You cannot win," Sesshomaru said in a crisp voice, laced with the brutal glee of victory.

"I'm not trying to win," Kagome ground out, attempting to straighten her knees. She could not. "I'm trying not to die!" she exclaimed as her left knee gave out. Before she could falter though, Kagome torqued her torso just enough to change Tokijin's path. Instead of crashing down on her, Kagome redirected the blade in an arch, sending it into the trunk of the tree behind her with a resounding _thunk_.

The impact against the bole was enough to make Sesshomaru's hand sting. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the bone-shaking pain and jerked Tokijin from the wood. His momentary lapse was enough, however, for Kagome to dart around him and escape into the open garden where she could not be cornered.

"Then you admit your defeat?" Sesshomaru asked, slamming Tokijin into its sheath and furtively flexing his tingling hand.

"I can't beat you in a fight, Sesshomaru!" she shouted from what she assumed was a safe distance across the garden. The Demon Lord smirked. "Does that make you feel better? You can defeat an _unarmed_ human who is in a kimono so big she can't even run away. Good for you!" Kagome threw her heavily sleeved arms into the air for emphasis.

Sesshomaru's smirk vanished. She was mocking him.

"If you are so resigned," he replied, icy enough to conjure memories of the blizzard's regime. "Then lay down your barrier and accept your death." From nowhere, Sesshomaru brandished a new weapon, the first weapon he had ever wielded. It had been a giftthe skill to manifest from his youki a luminescent whipfrom his father for his twenty-first birthday. For years, it was his weapon of choice, and now he only summoned it in times when he wanted to truly enjoy a kill.

For the love of intimidation, Sesshomaru cracked the whip just right of the human, making hr barrier flicker as she retreated with a yelp. He withdrew before she could recover and snapped the whip back at her. His aim, of course, was flawless, but the human's instantly erected barrier stopped him from victory once more.

She stood strong and dissident in the slush, her hands held out before her, palms pressed against the barrier around her while she consciously fed it her energy. "Try again," Kagome goaded. "This is an unfair fight, and you know it. But I'm not about to die."

She saw the Demon Lord's fangs appear as his lips peeled back from his teeth. He would _not_ be taunted. With a severe snap of his arm and wrist, Sesshomaru cracked the whip against Kagome's barrier once more, causing the entire lattice-work of energy to tremble from the impact. But the human stood sturdy.

He attacked another time before bounding closer and assaulting her with more force. She withstood him, thought. It seemed no demonic attack could pierce her barrier.

With a furious growl, Sesshomaru allowed the whip to dissipate. He came to stand directly before Kagome and watched her with a face so cold, so motionless it made Kagome shiver.

"I'm not afraid of you," Kagome said, hoping she sounded convincing.

Sesshomaru chose not to waste his time replying to such a bold lie. His eyes narrowed just enough for Kagome to know that he could see through her easily.

When that avenue seemed to be closed, Kagome selected a side road and began that direction. "Why were you in my room while I was asleep?"

Sesshomaru paused. He had not recalled waking her, and he was certain no one had been alerted of his presence there. Her reasons for knowing were unclear to him, and he felt the flicker of self-reproach for not being more careful. Of course, had he just killed her in her sleep, he would have been spared the embarrassment of being discovered. Again, he reminded himself that he had refrained from ripping her viscera from her abdominal cavity because of his self respect, which was a very decent reason for doing anything. Unfortunately, his self respect was doing nothing to wipe the suspicious look off the female's face.

What exactly was she insinuating? He wanted to know.

He did not wish to tell her that he had chosen to let her survive until waking. She could perhaps misinterpret his actions and think that he had taken pity on her or had mustered up some compassion for her pathetic case.

He could feel his patience wearing very thin, and Sesshomaru knew the hindrance of her barrier would require the strategic attack of one focused and calm. The Demon Lord was not prone to admitting defeat, but he was not above giving his opponents rain checks, on in this case, nigh-encompassing frustration checks.

"Consider yourself spared for the time being," Sesshomaru announced anticlimactically before stepping around her and walking unhurriedly to one of the side doors into the main hall.

Somehow, that ending to their interaction did not feel right. How dare he walk away like that? Kagome wanted to spin around and scream at him. She wanted to demand an answer and then demand his reasoning. Why was he so damn angry at her? Kagome knew she had not done anything to him while he had been inexcusably neglectful of her. And where did he get the audacity to sneak into her bedroom while she was asleep?

While on this tirade, Kagome would insist that he disclose why he threw Kouga out. She had a suspicion that Sesshomaru had done it simply because Kouga was the only thing that brought Kagome any kind of joy. He certainly was not the deliverance from grief she had hoped he would be, and his stay with her turned out nothing like how she had anticipated. But he had smiled at her even when he was angry, and he had taken her misdirected abuse without retaliation. He had been exactly what she needed at the time.

In the back of the library of Kagome's mind, sitting in a corner illuminated only by a single desk lamp, was a young woman who had read all the self-help books and remembered what the therapists had said all those years ago when Kagome's father had turned in his library card and walked away with an armful of books never to be returned. This girl was logical and assertive and nearly always right, and she had a habit of, at the most inopportune moments, raising her hand. Now, she looked up from the library's dog-eared copy of The Vagina Monologues and told Kagome what she did not want to hear: Kagome was grateful Kouga had left.

The wolf had been wonderful, perhaps too wonderful. Grief makes people do foolish things, and Kagome discovered that she was not exempt. She would have gone with him. She would have resigned herself and sat down in the snow. Kouga was too familiar. He was too willing. And, worst of all, he lacked the foresight to see the repercussions of his actions. He could not understand that the girl he adored would flicker and fade away if she followed him, if she opted to chase a replacement.

But above all else was the undeniable knowing that would hold her for an unknown duration, the one thing on which Kagome and her bookworm conscience could agree: she was not ready to let Inuyasha go yet.

Kagome felt the beginnings of tears, but blinked them away. If Sesshomaru's reasons were truly rooted in the desire to cause her pain, she would not reward him with her tears. She would save those for a time when she really need them. However, she noted abstractly how good it would feel the sit down in the slush and cry herself dry. She was already muddy and wet and tired and hurting. Certainly swollen eyes and blotchy skin could not damage her appearance anymore.

But her appearance did not really matter that much to her; she could hold back her sobs for purposes that ran far deeper than vanity. She might have admitted defeat in battle, but she would not let Sesshomaru win this one. Her tears were hers alone. They were the only thing she had left.

Before turning around and heading back into her oversized residence, Kagome noticed for the first time that it was no longer snowing. The air was still chilly, but it was brisk chill not an icy chill. She looked down at the dwindling patches of snow with a weak feeling of triumph.

So the cold had not killed her. So she had managed to keep moving long enough to hold the snow at bay. That was one enemy defeated, and perhaps that meant she was one step closer to learning how to live with herself in the aftermath.

Of course, there was a great deal of mud between where Kagome was standing and the front door of her residence, and there was no natural hindrance better at holding a person motionless than mud.  
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She frowned and looked down at her long fingers, now slightly swollen and ruddy. She was from the islands. Cold did not suit her. Turning her hands over, she was once more reminded that her bronze skin was better adapted for the sun and the heat.

Sokkenai's nostrils flared in concurrence as she thrust her chilly hands into her sleeves. She found Winter to be the most stupid waste of time, and her opinion of those who bore it was even lower. There were, after all, lands where the baleful fingers of Winter never touched. Cold never drew pictures in the sand. Cold never climbed palms to pluck heavy coconuts from clusters nestled in fronds. Cold never laid in the sun until cooked golden brown and warmed to the core. Cold never visited Okinawa.

For all the reasons she thought Sesshomaru was a fool, Sokkenai certainly believed this to be amongst the top five.

And it appeared that number three, possibly number two, was darting around the garden below her.

Sometimes she wondered how he endured the shame. Perhaps it was the same way he endured the cold. He seemed to swallow it all in silence, never actually admitting his wounds and chilblains. But Sokkenai knew they were there. The few times he ever handled business outdoors during the winter, his hands and feet would turn bright red. As would his nose. (This characteristic Sokkenai found particularly hysterical. Imagine, if you will, a tall, impossible attractive and imposing male standing over you, launching a glare that would melt lesser beings. Now, picture this male with a rosy snout. Somehow, that simple addition of hue takes the edge off the entire thing. Let us take a moment to laugh at Sesshomaru's expense.)

Yes, he was silent about most of his woes, Sokkenai had found. There had been a time when he had not even voiced his displeasures concerning her, but that had been years ago. It would seem that once the Demon Lord reached the end of the Path of Tolerance, he stepped not so gingerly into the yawning fields of Expressed Loathing. He had a summer home set up near the border of Silent-treatment Territory and Snide-comments-during-sex-ville. When the weather turned cold, Sesshomaru would retreat to this villa more frequently. And she hated it.

Growing up on the sunny shores of Okinawa, Sokkenai had been a princess among her clansmen. From birth, she possessed a stunning beauty and was often paraded about or presented like a doll to the guests of her father. Her childhood was dedicated to learn the art of being feminine. She was a conditioned work of art. She was born into pulchritude. And, for a time, it was good. Superficial… but good.

But the slippery, pink dragon of growth slithered out of the cavern between her thighs and made quick work of the precious doll that was Sokkenai. Into her more formative years, she followed the dragon blindly, ignorant to the consequences of maturing aestheticism.

Sokkenai glared down at her lover and is sister-in-law, battling once more in the chilly garden. Had she known what it meant, had someone told her the price she must pay for beauty, she would have never stumbled along behind that cursed, manipulative dragon.

As with most females, Sokkenai discovered a sudden, warm wave of inclinations washing over her. She grew taller, more rounded in places. Her chubby cheeks leaned, and her childish pout metamorphosed into a seductive purse. She sprouted breasts like coconuts and grew legs like palm trunks.

By her fourteenth birthday, Sokkenai was already receiving marriage proposals.

By her fifteenth birthday, she had been raped twice.

By her sixteenth birthday, she had miscarried once and aborted thrice.

And by her seventeenth birthday, she had been shipped to the land of frozen winters and muggy summers to entertain and relieve the sexual frustrations of a male who seemed to suffer from impotence in all places but his bed.

Early on, Sokkenai had found her purpose in life. She had unveiled what gave her value in the eyes of others; more specifically, she found that she would never have another friend in her life. All females hated her. All males wanted her. There was no happy medium in the spectrum.

Lust and hatred are almost the same color. They are, after all, derived from the same catalyst: passion. They both sprout up from the same plot in the garden of afflictions of the free will and higher thinking. (What a dangerous and breathtakingly beautiful combination thinking and will can be.) One must feel a passion toward another person, a carnal drive so strong that it surpasses the boundaries of desire and saunters into the territory of lust. Compared to lust, desire is downright chaste. You desire a pet cat. You lust for your pool boy.

Hatred is dislike set aflame, and, as we all know, passion is the kerosene of emotions. Hatred is resentment whose shoulder was bumped one too many times on the subway train from one synapse to the nest. What drives exasperation to rage? Irk to homicidal tendencies? It is passion, of course.

But what exactly is passion?

If Sokkenai could answer that question, she would have harnessed the serpent of sexual potency years ago. But were the dragons of potency and satiety the same, or merely cousins?

Sokkenai pounded the railing with a trembling fist.

Red. Passion was red like roses. Red like sunsets. Red like thin skin stretched tightly across blood vessels and stimulated nerve endings. Lust was pink: the blush of a maiden eyed a little too closely for a little too long. Hatred was crimson: rouge smeared across an eyelid in hopes of winning back a prize that was busy ogling a flushed girl, fresh off the puberty boat.

Sokkenai knew red, in all shades from her plush lips to her purring pussy. She was red.

After so many years of long crimson days and even longer crimson nights, Sokkenai had learned to grudgingly yield to the things she believed beyond her control; however, she was not acquiescent. For every favor she dribbled over Sesshomaru, she expected him to pay. And when the stream of kimono and jewelry grew shallow all those years ago, the neko youkai had found something just as rewarding: the way Sesshomaru looked with a frostbitten nose.

She was owed that much.

Sokkenai wondered how she had become so cold. She was a battlefield in a blizzard. She was a fresh kill in the snow. She was ice stained red.

Yet somewhere beyond the wreckage, if you were to peel back the heavy vermilion curtains, if you wove your way through the snapping jaws of disillusionment and teenage nightmares, if you plowed through the mounds of bloody snow, you might have found a doll, sitting quietly on a shelf, smelling the roses and watching the sunsets.

Sometimes Sokkenai thought about killing her lover.

She scoffed. Like killing him would improve her situation. Like wiping the slate of the world clean of the thin, angular calligraphy of Sesshomaru would mitigate the weight of her fate… her fate to be beautiful and loathed and appreciated in all the wrong ways. Like slitting his stupid throat in the night would make her choices and abuses sting less.

No… but it sure as hell would make her feel better.

A loud, woody _thunk_ interrupted her thoughts, and Sokkenai's gaze, where it had one slipped so gracefully down the bridge of her nose, tripped and stumbled over her distended nostrils. So appalling was the scene below her, Sokkenai felt a growl of protest caught in her the constriction of her throat. Her consort, the illustrious Sovereign of the West was pressed flush with that ugly human who was pressed flush with a tree. All this was wrapped snugly in the rounded envelope of a crackling barrier.

Sensing that she could not bear much more of that reproachful display, Sokkenai turned and entered her bedroom, her kimono swishing quietly at her ankles.  
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From the perspective of the balcony, the Demon Lord and the tree made quite an interesting sandwich of the struggling human between. In fact, their position appeared rather close, certainly closer than a dignified youkai and a human would ever be.

Sesshomaru agreed entirely even through the view from the balcony was incorrect. They were not flush with each other. He had the girl pinned to the tree with a clawed hand, her toes just touching the ground. The girl, on the other hand, had him in a place just as precarious. With the sparking barrier at his back—he had slipped in for the attack before she could react, successfully trapping himself within—Sesshomaru was just as pinned in place.

Kagome, glaring as darkly as she could, had one knee raised and planted in the Demon Lord's solar plexus. From that launch point, if she pushed hard enough, he could be shoved backwards into what would undoubtedly be searing injury.

With the girl about to be strangled and the demon about to be sautéed, they found themselves in a standoff.

_How inconvenient_, Sesshomaru thought.

"Remove your knee."

"Remove your hand, and I'll think about it."

No, that would not do.

"If I end your life now, your barrier will dissipate. You are at a disadvantage."

Kagome almost laughed. "If I push you into my barrier, you'll let go of me, and I'll be on my merry way. I think we're equally disadvantaged, Sesshomaru."

"I will not remain in this stalemate, human."

"Well, I'm not suggesting that you do." Kagome shifted uncomfortably, feeling rather awkward with her knee pressed to his gut. Of course, the claws at her throat did little to ease her discomfort. "Fine, I'll remove the barrier and you let go of me on the count of three. Okay?"

Sesshomaru did not agree. He merely stared at her, silently contemplating the sheer stupidity of her proposition.

"One," Kagome began, starting to think that maybe this was not the best of ideas. "Two," she continued with even less conviction.

Here it comes… any minute now…

"Three."

And neither of them moved.

Somehow, Sesshomaru's blatant disobedience frustrated her. "Fine," she said tartly, glaring harder. "I can stay like this all day."  
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A/N: And they all lived happily ever after, appalled and pressed to a tree? Hmm… no… somehow I don't think it would work out like that. Ahem My sincerest apologies to my readers and reviewers alike. I have recently moved from the town of _Kula_ to the town of _Pukalani_ (Oh, how I love Hawai'ian names!) and it has taken an obscenely long time for my internet to get hooked up. I had to do things as mundane as pass my time at the beach or read a book! I actually picked up The Great Gatsby and am enjoying it thoroughly. Anyway, long story short (too late) I wasted away from lack of cyber-nourishment, but I'm back in the game and building up my strength once more! You're all great sports… of course to have actually endured my sometimes nonsensical and always verbose style this long into the story, you've all already proved your worth to me! I'm making you all little medals that you can hang over your computers.


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